By all I know
by camille blackfox
Summary: The lives of Lancelot and his fellow knights are swept into turmoil when a beautiful, enigmatic swordswoman intertwines her fate with theirs. The result is a combination of danger, battle, betrayal, and love that runs deeper than hate. FINISHED PG13 for l
1. a traveler, two swords, and a song

Soon the Sarmatian knights would be free, and they were on their way back to the wall. After countless dangerous missions, all were light of heart and an uncommon spring manifested itself in their steps. In celebration of their coming liberation, they rode out of formation, riding in groups and talking and laughing among themselves. As they started under a curtain of trees heralding a forest they fell silent momentarily, in brief reverence to any deities or spirits that could be residing there. As soldiers they respected many and mocked few gods regardless if they were their own. Once past the entrance their talking resumed and all remarked at the unusual brightness of the day, especially within the normally dark, brooding forest. As they approached a clearing on the road, a magnificent black horse reared from the side and pranced into the middle of the road where it snorted, tossed its head and pawed the ground, jostling its rider, who was hooded and cloaked lightly, to protect from the light, ever present Briton chill. Arthur, alone the front of the group held up his hand and behind him came to a stop amid snorting and pawing from their high-spirited horses.

Curious at the identity of a lone traveler who would dare stop an unknown group of highly armed men, their talking died as well, as some touched their weapons, in instinctive suspicion. Wary to the last, Arthur approached slowly and demanded the traveler's name. A peal of laughter greeted this request as he replied, "You and your knights have nothing to fear from me, Artorius Castus." With another laugh the rider shook his head, throwing back the cloak hood. A collective gasp issued from the group when dark coffee colored ringlets tumbled from their fastenings. Two eyes mismatched green and brown framed by darker, thick, long lashes and a small, full pair of lips smiled at them from beneath the fleeting brows and high cheek bones of a woman.

"What?" she said, in a rich husky voice "have you never seen a woman on a horse before" "A woman on a horse yes-" started Gwain reasonably "but not one wearing men's clothing, riding astride and armed to the teeth!" finished Bors garnering a chuckle from the knights. Exasperated Arthur sighed and turned back to the woman, "As blunt as my knight puts it, he is correct. It is not every day that we encounter a female such as yourself traveling alone and unarmed…you are alone, are you not?" he trailed off assuming that she must have briefly broken from her caravan or village. "Heavens no", laughed the woman "I am alone, but do not worry, I am quite capable of protecting myself" She dropped her cloak revealing a pair of long thin curved rapiers sheathed crosswise on her back, and a long dagger on a belt slung low around her hips. Her tunic was leather and laced at the shoulders and back over a lighter weight black tunic of cloth. Both fell gracefully covering the beginnings of a pair of close-fitting deep green breeches, which were finished, by a pair of tall sleek boots with which she gripped the horse's sides. Her utilitarian clothing could not, however conceal her petite curvaceous form or inherent grace and languorous ease. Hung on a loop in her saddle a long bow sat, within close proximity to an understated quiver of long grey-flighted arrows. Behind him in the group of pawing horses, more than one jaw dropped at the combination of sleek weaponry and feminine softness. "I see", allowed Arthur, his own curiosity peaked. "I have only one worry, that being should I meet with a group of knights such as yourselves whose intentions were not quite honorable, I would be one well armed woman against seven trained cutthroats". Arthur, seeing the implication, and glad to have the delicate issue solved for him jumped at the chance, "Well I should hate to have you worry and insist that you travel with us to your destination, until which moment we will ensure your safety; what is you destination?" "Hadrian's wall" she replied with a slight smile, which suggested she knew something they didn't "and I would be honored to join you."

Although he found the congruency of their destinations somewhat puzzling, he did not remark, sensing that somehow, it would give her the satisfaction she was looking for. "Well" he surmised "Let's get going then, it'll be dark before we know it" She fell back into their ranks, at which they clustered around her, curious to speak to such a strange woman. In front Arthur rode feeling rather put out, though he didn't know why. "So where are you from?" Gwain inquired, as more of something to say than a question. "Nowhere." She replied bluntly, then elaborated "I have wandered since my childhood and they place I was born no longer exists." With a wry smile he joked "then you share something with us" "More than you could know" she said cryptically, but then smiled and asked "Well I believe I know most of you, but let me check. You are Gwain, you Galahad, you Bors, you Dagonet, and the man in the back looking as if he doesn't trust me, yes, you must be Lancelot" When he looked up she met the most intense searching dark gaze she had ever seen and for a moment feared she would be lost in his eyes. But buoyed by her will power, which was formidable, she raised her own mismatched glance and matched him search for search, silent question for question, the two of them locked in an undeclared battle until their stares were broken by Tristran's reentry from the rear.

With a gaze less wary but just as searching he looked at her then continued his ride to the front where he stopped and conferred with Arthur. "Knights? And my lady" he added as an after thought, "we will camp here for tonight". Without questioning the knights followed their leader and Tristran, the scout to an overhang of trees off the road and pulled vaulted down out of their saddles. Offhandedly to Tristran she remarked "If we are camping here, I will go retrieve my pony, I'm sure I can contribute something to a meal" He looked at her thoughtfully and then replied "Do you want me to accompany you?" "No" she smiled, "My pack horse is quite close, you see I had some suspicion that I would be running into you and your fellow knights" "I see" he said in mock seriousness "and are you a seers woman or priestess of a strange god to have known of our coming?" matching his smile she replied, "No seer or priestess but I am a bit of a scout" As she turned and sauntered in the direction of the tree cover more than one head turned to admire the swing of her hips. "Lady! What is your name?" Tristran called after her "You may call me Camille" she yelled from the other side of the camp before disappearing into the trees. "Is she a enchantress or a spirit?" Galahad mused, half dazed in her wake. "I'm not sure she'll ever give you a chance to find out, I'm afraid" Gwain joked, "She carries two swords to your one!" "Outflanked, outnumbered, and out manned" laughed Bors "And by a woman to boot!"

Lancelot smiled but stayed to himself. He had not completely recovered from the force it had taken to hold her green and brown gaze without wavering. Ruefully he pondered on Galahads question, which, at least for Lancelot, held more candor than its author had realized. Arthur, seeming to sense that his friend's thoughts were as confused as his own walked over to Lancelot and asked, "I have not heard you speak. Normally when a beautiful woman is about you can't stop your mouth." "Galahad may be right, she seems to be beyond human comprehension" to alleviate this deep thought he joked "I wonder if she breathes and bleeds like a human?" " His remark was cut short by a spine-chilling battle cry, halfway between the scream of a hawk and the howl of a wolf. A few of the knights made surreptitious gestures warding against evil. They assumed it was a spirit or strange animal until they heard the clash of metal on metal, the bellow of a man, and above it all, the most beautiful, rich, haunting melody they had ever heard. Glancing at each other, Arthur said as he unsheathed Excalibur, "It looks as though you may find out shortly."

In short order the seven knights were crashing through the trees to come bursting out and stop dead at the sight before their eyes. Camille was circling a huge Woad warrior, her two swords, glittering in the light, their blades stained crimson. As she watched the man warily, she was smiling as the strange haunting melody flowed from her lips. It was a lullaby. The knights were not the only men in the clearing to be transfixed by it. The Woad's eyes were growing black, the pupils dilated as if hypnotized. The other three Woad warriors, slain on the ground they saw, seemed transfixed even in death. Suddenly in a movement almost too quick for the eyes, the petite woman darted in and the hulking warrior slumped to the ground almost gently, as her arms pulled back, cutting the man's throat with one blade, even as she pulled her other free from his ribcage.

Gaping, they watched her turn, and brush her hand over her cheek, where the dagger of one of the Briton warriors had given her a small cut that dripped with dark crimson blood. After cleaning her rapiers on the tunic of one of the dead men, she turned and seeming to see them there for the first time asked "what?" a puzzled look in her eyes. "Did you kill these men?" Arthur asked incredulously. "Yes" she responded evenly, "Why, were they friends of yours?" "Three armed men against a tiny little wench who comes up to my chest?" Dagonet joked, a rare smile cracking his mouth "Quite" she agreed and then brushed past the astonished men on her way back to camp, leading a small black pony with a bedroll and numerous packs tethered to it. Gwain and Bors were first to come to their senses, crashing into each other in their haste to catch up with her. The others were left dazed, staring at the remarkable woman that had smitten them all.


	2. eyes by firelight

I was soooooo psyched about some good reviews on my first try, I posted with only 4/5 reviews. Thanks very very much to reviewers and I hope you like this chptr just as much as the last.

Returning to his horse and gear, Lancelot stabbed his sword into the ground, frustrated. He had never been tongue-tied by a woman. Normally his charms ran so thick and fast he had every girl in a five-foot radius smiling and fawning over him desperately. This woman however, radiated charisma like her blades radiated the weak Briton sun. He watched her from the corner of his eyes as he groomed his horse.

She had repined her hair but in a nonchalantly elegant knot on the back of her head but a few curls had brushed free during her fight, leaving them to curl becomingly around her ears, and the nape of her neck. Laughing softly at a joke the normally stolid Dagonet had made, she removed her swords and laid them gently by her horse and pony, leaving the dagger on its belt slung casually around her hips. She replaced her cross-sheaths and rapiers with a cloak of soft midnight blue, which set off the colors of her eyes and the rich undertones of gold and red in her dark hair. Half concerted to see this enchanting but confusing woman back in a normal female stance serving up traveler's stew the knights hastened to retrieve their mess kits from their packs. However, unused to being waited upon while on the trail, they were ill at ease when she served each helping with a special smile for each knight.

After the most satisfying meal they had had in months each of the knights retired to make his preparations for a deep night sleep. Lancelot, however, remained at the fire, his dark smoldering eyes watching her from across the flames. She had taken a spot further from the fire as if a preternatural instinct reminded her of the accepted submission of her gender. She rubbed her eyes and loosened the lacings on the shoulders of her tunic. She slipped of the light leather armor and then reached up and released her hair, letting it cascade past her shoulders where she ran her hands through it to loosen the stiffness of travel, then took a comb from her pack and began slowly teasing out the knots. Looking up as if sensing him there she met his eyes again and smiled. Slipping her cloak around her she stood and joined him by the fire drawing her knees to her chest in contemplation of the flames. In the fire the dancing light played across her hair and caught in her eyes making him suddenly wish he could touch her hair. As if she needed something to occupy her hands she took the comb back out and brought it to her glossy locks. "Can I-I mean, well, if its okay, …could I try?" Lancelot asked hesitantly motioning toward the comb. He could have cursed himself for the clumsiness in which he was speaking. She cocked her head and smiled gently, her eyes soft. "I suppose so" She scooted closer, tilted her head back, and handed him the comb. "I'm not very good, I well..I've never tried…" he explained anxiously "I'm sure you won't hurt me" she replied as if she was reassuring him and placing her trust on him in the same breath.

He smiled and place the teeth of the comb at the top of her head then bringing it down through her curls. He ran into a snag and, determined not to hurt her, brought up his other hand to lightly anchor her hair as he separated the tangled strands. An hour later, he had found a soft rhythm and when her head began to rest against his knee, he knew she was asleep. He took the comb gently from her hair and set it beside her. He moved his hand slowly under her knees and swung her gently into him so that her head rested against his chest. Her face was different in slumber, somehow more delicate, more fragile, as if beneath the rapiers, daggers, and longbows she was an innocent girl, who needed protection. Startled, he realized that at this thought his own mind rose in the declaration that he would be the one to protect her from all evils.

As a handsome man in a company of legendary warriors, he had had his share of pretty girls, but each he had had fun with but parted from the next morning. At that moment, he did not want anything more than to continue holding her, sheltering her. She sighed in her sleep and turned slightly so her head moved further up, under his shoulder. Tired himself, he leaned his back against the large rock behind him, and rested his cheek against her hair. She smelled wonderful. Something about the scent of her hair stirred a long buried memory from the depths of his mind; A dark night like this one, a warm fire, and a woman, singing. He heard the words and they sprang, unbidden, to his lips and he realized he was singing in Sarmatian. With a start, he realized that she smelled like home. The lullaby she had sung earlier while battling the woads was the same one he recalled the woman singing around a fire similar to the one in front of him. Who the woman in the memory had been, he had no idea, but her scent and her singing added one more veil of mystery to enigmatic woman who slept on his shoulder.

Pleeese oh please review. I don't care whether its praise or critique, I just like getting feedback! For the next chapter I need five reviews.


	3. a perilous beauty

Author's note: To all my readers: I am very very sorry to have kept you waiting sooooooo long! Finals week and all. To make up for it I'll post the next one as fast as possible, regardless of the # of reviews I get. (Although do please still review) A hint of the future: I may be co writing a fic with my friend Lalane Michaels. It looks like its gonna be uber cool so I'll keep you updated on the when its gonna be posted, etc.

Camille woke late that night, unsure of her surroundings, a dangerous insecurity for any traveler. She felt someone's breath on her neck and looked up to see Lancelot his cheek resting on her hair deep in sleep. She smiled at the handsome knight, whose own tousled curls, a shade darker than hers lay across his forehead, casting slight shadows that played with the dancing shades cast by the ruddy glow of the fire. She slid out gently from his arms brushing her hand ever so lightly across his curls as she bent and kissed his forehead tenderly. She watched him sleep as he had her before retreating to her bedroll and gear at the edge of the fire's glow.

Early the next morning, she woke, stretched, and rubbed bleary eyes. Rising, she decided a bath would do her much good, and gathering her cloak and a small stone beaker she tiptoed off to the small pond, she knew was nearby. Fifteen minutes later Lancelot awoke and shaking the sleep from his eyes, vaguely recalled that something was missing. Then suddenly waking, he started; she was gone. Looking over at her area, he saw that the bedding had been slept in, but she was not there either. Worried that something had happened to her, he rose stiffly, promising himself no further nights slept sitting on the hard ground with his back against a rock if possible. Taking his swords he slung them across his back and discovered a set of small shallow footprints leading towards the woods. Sighing, he followed them and entered the woods. If she kept running off without telling anyone, she was sure to end of dead. He thought grumpily to himself. A moment later however, any thoughts he had been formulating, were completely lost as he emerged to a glimpse something that took his breath away. Bathing in the willow shaded pool, she was wearing a white shift; hair pinned high on her head and anchored with a silver pin. Through the shift he could see that although a hardened warrior her stomach had a slight soft curve and her neck was far too graceful to be that of a man's. In the water she dipped and submerged her body up to the neck, sighing as the cold water washed clean the dust of riding. From a stone at the water's edge she retrieved the stone bottle and released her hair, pulling out the silver ornament. He noticed that what he had assumed to be a hair ornament was really her dagger, concealed in the twist so recently adorning the back of her head. Shaking his head and smiling he acknowledged the fact that this woman was probably never disarmed. Carefully she poured a small amount of some clear liquid into her palm, rationing it as if it were more precious than gold. Massaging it into her wet hair, it came up to thick white foam, which she rinsed, into the water before combing out the remainder with the comb. Swimming over to the rock again, she twisted her hair into a rope and wrung out the water, then replaced the dirk, repining her curls in her patented twist. Retreating into the shroud of the willows boughs, he watched her silhouette as she changed out of the shift and used a rough cloth to towel the water from her arms and legs. Regaining his senses, Lancelot turned headed back into camp, deciding not to mention what he had seen.

Once he reached the camp, Tristran watched him curiously and asked "Have you seen our lady this morning?" "No, can't say I have" he replied nonchalantly, glad to see that the knights had recently risen, meaning that she had not held anyone up. "You two looked pretty comfortable by the fire last night" Gwain remarked slyly, "Have you become an expert in female grooming now?" "Oh please" he blustered "She had a knot in her hair and asked if I could help her get it out, that was it.." "Oh, so she approached you eh?" Bors smirked "I thought there was something going on when you two met" "She is beautiful" Galahad added "You're not telling us anything we don't know" laughed Gwain. "Yeah, too bad Lancelot's going to get all the sugar from this cane" said Galahad morosely "Don't worry, I'm sure we can find a nice, homely tavern maid who will take you Galahad" sniggered Bors, getting a grin from Tristran, who was tending to his falcon. "Ugh, you knights make me sick" Arthur said, his nose high in the air in mock disdain, "Less than a week from freedom, and all you can talk about is a woman" "Yeah but did you get a look at those legs?" "Or the way she wore those swords" "I agree, hurrah for women in breeches," volunteered the knights.

Silence interrupted the uproarious laughter as she emerged from the woods, cloaked and hooded, her hair braided into an intricate pattern for traveling. Even dirty from travel in dusty limp clothes, she had been beautiful, but the knight's imaginations had inadequately prepared them for how much more entirely stunning she was with her hair clean and the dust scrubbed away. "And that" concluded Bors, in hushed, almost reverent tones, "is what you call a perilous beauty" blushing she hurried into the camp asking worriedly "Oh dear, I haven't arrived late have I?" "Well" Arthur replied sternly, a twinkle in his eye "now that you've arrived we can finally get going" "Oh I'm so sorry" she pleaded, "Sir knight, it will me less than a moment to gather my gear" Her eyes met Lancelot's, who fought back a smile at her almost childish hurry to be prepared. Taking pity on her Tristran mused, "Well of course if we wanted to get going now Arthur, we would have had to risen earlier than five minutes ago." Catching his meaning, she turned embarrassed as the knights attempted to turn their laughter into coughing. "A small joke" Arthur admitted a smile tugging his lips "At my expense, I see" she replied ruefully all though smiling. "The lady is right however," Tristran continued, "We should be going soon, the presence of the Woad scouts so far south of the wall is troubling to me" The men nodded their agreement and turned packing up bedrolls, gathering armor, and strapping on weaponry.

Dropping her cloak, Camille removed the dagger and sheathed it, throwing the belt around her waist, where it hung casually from her hips. Bending down she whispered a few words into her stallion's ears, which perked as he jumped up. She retrieved two apples from the pack pony and fed one to each, murmuring softly as she administered saddles and bridles. Dagonet stumped over and gruffly offered her a traveler's loaf, a small farl filled with meat, as they would be eating on the horse. She smiled sweetly in thanks, making the gruff man stammer a brief "You're welcome" before tramping off again with the look of a dog that has just received a bone. Bors, seeing this, couldn't resist a dig at his friend, asking, "cat got your tongue Dag? Or just yer heart?" Dagonet scowled, and punched Bors in the arm jokingly, garnering a loud chuckle from the knight. Lancelot, already packed, mounted his black charger and rode over to her, inquiring "Are you ready to go yet, because you know, you and your bath really held us up this morning" "As I see" she answered dryly. Around her the men were finishing their preparations and a few were up on their mounts. "By the way" she asked, posing the question archly "How did you know I was taking a bath this morning?" "I-" he started, trying to think of something, "your hair was wet." he finished decisively, proud of himself that he had managed to come up with something so quickly. "Really?" she queried, raising an eyebrow "sounds plausible," yelled Gwain who had heard the conversation "Although Lancelot, we missed the pleasure of your company this morning" Lancelot looked away, unable to keep a guilty grin from his face. "Oh, did you?" she asked, her expression giving him the impression that she wasn't ever going to let him live it down "My my" said Bors snobbishly "What would your mother say?" added Gwain, smirking "I don't know what his mother would say, but his father would say congratulations!" Bors muttered to Tristran who choked on a sip of water, nearly spraying everyone in the general vicinity. She stood and glared at Bors. "I'd advise you duck Bors" cautioned Lancelot "Yes" chimed in Galahad, "There's one arrow of a glare headed for you large egg shaped head" "Shot by a woman who can't reach it?" he chortled in response.

Grinning, she approached him, "Well Bors, I don't really think its my hands you need to worry about reaching your head" As she spoke, she drew her dirk and licked the blade, a silent challenge that nearly knocked the men off their feet in its suggestion. "I can see I'll have to reconsider ducking" he responded in mock earnestness "Well perhaps the reason that men don't fight women is because they're afraid to lose" intoned Tristran, looking amused to which Lancelot snorted loudly. She turned and inquired, "Have you grown closer to your steed Sir knight? For now you even sound like it, I shall be kind and not even mention looks" She looked smug even as he grinned and looked down, acknowledging the point. "Enough" said Arthur, laughing with the rest "If we want to reach the wall, we should leave before darkness falls yet again!" "Hear, Hear!" cried the men, and spurring their horses, fell into loose formation as they rode out of the camp.


	4. paying respects

A/N: Thanks for all your patience with the whole recent criticism thing, (if you don't know what I'm talking about, its probably better that way) The issue has come to a happy resolution, and I removed the verbal reprimand or what ever you want to call it to prevent further conflict. Just so you know, the wild part of Brittania during the roman occupation was known sometimes as Caledonia. Please give me feedback!

As they galloped along the wide dirt road most of the men had jubilant thoughts of their coming freedom. Lancelot however had his mind on a completely different subject. He glanced over at Camille. She rode tall and strong, like one of the men, a few wisps of hair pulled free by the wind. Riding next to Bors she struck up a conversation "What will you do when we reach the wall Bors?" "Kiss me wife and hug me bastards." He responded bluntly.

She laughed and continued, "Yes, I have heard tales of your Vanora's beauty throughout the land" He beamed proudly at this and the other knights laughed softly, adding, "Yes, she's quite the beauty". "Well she supposed "I guess I shall be of use to none but the roman garrison, I'm sure I could never hold a candle to her." Bors smiled again at this but Gwain, frowning, cautioned "Stay away from the soldiers, they're brutes" Lancelot scowled at the thought of the soldiers "they're loose men with no morals, and would do you harm at a moment's thought." "Are they such fearsome fighters that I could not defend myself?" she questioned "They have no honor, they would gang up on you in groups of more than seven" Galahad answered disgustedly "They are pigs and cowards," agreed Tristran.

"You are so supportive of fellow soldiers" she remarked "I thought it was the way of the soldier to be forever brother in arms" "They are not our brothers" Galahad said bitterly, "We do not serve the Romans, we serve Arthur" Dagonet added. "I see," she allowed "then I shall be sad to part from your company when we reach the wall" "You're leaving?" Lancelot asked abruptly "perhaps" she answered frowning, "Many things depend on the sequence of events as they occur." "Have you ever been to Hadrian's wall?" asked Arthur "Only in dreams" she smiled. "I promise you, it's a sight to be seen and not soon forgotten" he assured her as she rode up beside him "Ahh, there it is, over that hill" he pointed, and her gaze followed, eyes widening at the magnificent edifice of rock and mortar. "It's lovely" she gasped, "all I had imagined and more" he grinned, enjoying her reaction, although it was quite common. A dot appeared at the ramparts, waving a red flag, "They see us coming?" she guessed "Yes" he confirmed "they're giving the signal to open the gate"

As if on cue, the huge spiked gates began to creak and moan as if injured as they swung open inch by painful inch. "Legend says, when you ride through those gates for the first time, a beautiful woman wakes weeping for your folly." Lancelot told her, his eyes laughing. "And what folly is that?" she retorted, "that you're destined to receive fleas from the first barmaid you kiss!" Arthur snorted at this outrageous tale his friend had clearly made up then was forced to bite his tongue to keep from laughing when she replied "well hopefully I shan't be kissing any barmaids in the future, and you needn't worry since I'm sure you already have the fleas!"

Gwain rode up and queried hopefully "If I put on a dress and handed you a tankard of ale, would you kiss me?" "Depending on how drunk I was, I'd kiss you without the dress" she responded, giving raise to great hilarity. "Is that a threat or a promise" asked Tristran "and does it apply to all of us?" added Galahad eagerly. "Perhaps I will make it my goal to kiss each one of you before I go" she teased "We would greatly appreciate that my lady" chortled Bors, making a ridiculous bow from the saddle.

Riding up beside her Lancelot asked "Would you kiss me if you weren't drunk and I was wearing men's clothing?" She cocked her head and smiled, as if taking his measure. Then suddenly, she leaned out from her saddle, standing in the stirrups, and brushed her lips against his. Smiling at his astonishment she cautioned him "Now that is just going to have to do my good sir knight" Coming out of his initial shock, a huge grin split his face and kicking his horse into a gallop, he rode out to the front and spurred his charger again, so that it reared back, pawing the air with its front hooves. Trotting back to his place beside her, he leaned out just as suddenly, grasped the back of her neck with one hand, buried the other in her hair, and pulled her into a deep, passionate, and certainly less chaste kiss. Cheers rent the air at this reckless boyish act. When he leaned back into his saddle, she looked just as shocked as he had and he responded to her previous warning "For now my good lady I shall be content with _that_" Among uproarious hooting and laughter she drew one of her swords and slapped his horse's rump with the flat, sending the high-strung animal into a gallop, which she charged after on her mount, yelling in mock outrage.

After unpacking their horses and gear, the knights headed to the courtyard of the fortress, which functioned as a tavern as well as an open yard. The knights greeted their favorite barmaids with hugs and kisses, but more than one sent a brief envious glance towards Lancelot, who had Camille to accompany him, his arm around her shoulders as he guided her around his sometime home. "Vanora" Bors yelled, striding around as if he owned the place "Vaaannnoraaaaaa!" A tall handsome woman with brown wavy hair and a sweet, kindly face emerged with several children in tow. She approached him sternly then slapped his face, demanding "Where Have you been? I've been waiting for you!" "Ahh such passion" Bors declared lustily, before pulling his wife into a long, intense embrace. "Come my bastards; tonight we dine like kings" Bors roared to his children as they cheered and followed him.

"Vanora, meet Camille" Lancelot laughed pulling both women onto his lap and put his lips to Vanora's neck. "Pleased to meet you Camille" she laughed then slapped Lancelot playfully "My lover is watching you!" "Ahh well, if you must break my heart, would you at least bring me some ale to soothe my wounded pride?" he replied mournfully as she got up and went to the bar. Camille slid from his lap to the bench beside him and added "and I have no cause to sit in you lap, my friend, I'm not your woman" he smirked, eyes smoldering, as he retorted "Not yet!"

Several roman soldiers came over to the table and the biggest one said in a hearty, if not a bit condescending voice "ahh my sarmatian friend! How good to see you and your fellows back! Perhaps a game of dice?" "Gladly" he answered, smiling in return, although his eyes were cold, "It is always a pleasure to remove a man of his wages" "Well, let's see who dame fortune favors this night!" the roman responded, his own eyes narrowing slightly "Although it would seem that you have a head start" his head acknowledging Camille. Several dice throws later and a fairly significant amount of money passed either way across the table, the roman, sure of his superiority, and extremely intoxicated slurred "You're far too pretty a wench to suffer the charms of a foreigner; come give me a kiss and I'll pet your feathers the right way tonight! Besides he carries a short sword!" his companions, also drunk, sniggered at the suggestion as they eyed her themselves. She smiled, coldly as she said "Sadly I do not kiss, let alone lay with animals"

Even through the haze of drink the man could see the insult and roared, standing clumsily "You dirty whore! I'll teach you respect" Lancelot stood snarling, "She's NOT a whore!" Camille stood slowly an touched his arm whispering "Let me…" She walked over to the roman captain, smiling seductively as he leered drunkenly and said "that's more like it, seee allit takes isa stronghhhand" "yes" she smiled and touched his face swallowing her disgust at the stubble and dirt on his jaw. Swiftly she raked her nails down his face, leaving four deep gashes, which immediately welled with blood. As he stared at her in astonishment she smiled again and brought her knee up sharply into his groin sending him to the ground, moaning in agony. She knelt down drawing one of her rapiers "I do not dirty my blade on fools, but cross my path again, my stupid friend and you will pay YOUR respect to me in cold steel"

She rose quickly her sword immediately resting in the hollow of the second soldier's throat. "Back off" she instructed him cordially. A third moved forward menacingly and the second rapier immediately cleared leather and landed on his nose, "must I slay one of you to get my point across?" "I wouldn't mess with her my slow-witted mate" chuckled the rest of the knights, gathering around the tables "We've watched her dispatch three woads twice her size and double her weight in less than five minutes" Renewed fear and grudging respect rose in their eyes as the backed away and bowed their submission.

"I would've slain the fool for you" Lancelot told her seriously "Well" she said cupping his face with her hand "I was worried that I might one day require your help with a much more lethal opponent and didn't want to owe you a debt" He smiled at this tactful way of nursing his pride. Seeing him smile, she felt the sadness well up inside her and burying her hands in his own curls drew him into a desperate kiss.

When she released him, he saw that a single tear had escaped her resolve and rolled down her porcelain cheek as if a precedent to a storm. Concerned he laid her head against his chest and murmured into her hair "What is wrong?" Sitting up she closed her eyes and said "I must leave you on a mission tonight. It is dangerous and I do not exaggerate when I say that I may not survive to see you again" He looked stunned at this admission.

"Where are you going?" he asked weakly. She smiled sadly "I cannot tell you, which makes parting from you even more bitter. I Shall miss all of you greatly-" She projected to the rest of the room, addressing the other knights "But you," she lowered her voice "You I think I shall miss most of all" she caressed his cheek again "You will return" he said desperately, "because if you do not I will never love again" "Love," she laughed softly, trying to keep more tears from falling "We've only known each other a few days" "Which makes me more desperate to hold on to you" he responded "Is there any way I can keep you?" "No, I owe a debt that must be paid" she said brokenly more tears seeping from beneath her lashes against her will. "Well then let's go out with a bam" he whispered, "I'll never forget you" she sighed into his lips as they kissed once again. He brought his hand to her face where he could feel the tears running down, like Caledonian rain. "And how could I possibly forget you?" he murmured in return. "I will return, by all that I know, I will return to you." She cried with that she broke from his embrace and hurried around to each of the knights, kissing them on the cheek before running from the courtyard towards the stables. Ten minutes later he heard the thump of hooves against the hard dirt of the fortress as she rode out of towards the gates as quickly as she had ridden into his heart.

Thank you very much for reading! please review!


	5. returning to you

a/n: Well I'm not so bullheaded that I won't listen to my reviewers. When I found out that more than one reviewer objected to my writing style, I decided to try switching it up a bit just for kicks and giggles. Hope this is easier to read. Also I realized going back and reading through the last chptr really makes Camille sound like a Mary Sue. I promise I'm not turning her into one, that's about as slutty as she gets. I guess it all got concentrated into one chptr. Sorry. Anywho, this one should be a little better. Further more, I've found that I don't really need to ask for 5 reviews, you guys have been super nice and generous, so further requests are not neccesary. Thanx sooo much for reading and please review.

Camille had been forced to run from the courtyard when she could not keep the tears back any longer. Once she was safe in the dark she buried her face in her hands and sobbed, keening for a love she was sure was going to die with her. As she saddled and bridled her horse, the stallion whinnied softly, as if sensing that something was wrong.

Mechanically, she threw on her cloak and found the reins. She rode out to the gates and yelled up for the guardsmen to open it to her. Seeing the tears, one of the more cocky ones yelled to her "Do not weep for us pretty one, when you return my bed will be yet unturned, waiting for you!" she sniffed and yelled back

"Believe me when I say that I weep not for you but for a cause above your understanding and unreachable for me as the sun now set"

With her parting words still cleaving the air she galloped out into through the huge gates and into the black, foreboding, Briton night.

When he heard the gates clang shut again, Lancelot felt as if something was dying within him. The other knights, knowing something had happened, gathered around his table, shedding their drinks and women.

"She has left us?" Tristran guessed, his eyes telling his friend that he could sense the pain he was feeling

"Gone. To die" he said, his voice hollow, as if only a shell remained of the man he had been but two days prior.

"Camille" he whispered. As if on cue a hawk's scream rent the air and Tristran's bird landed on his arm. His brow furrowed, Tristran murmured into the hawk's ear

"Find her, watch over her" with a second shrill screech, the hawk took off circling the air above them, dipping its wings as if in acknowledging the request. Then it took off like a shaft from a crossbow, soaring off into the sky. The knight drew his long, curved sword swearing solemnly

"Lancelot, my friend and companion, yours is not the only heart she bears with her. I pledge my life and sword to our lady, should she ever require protection from either." Silently the others drew their own blades, in salute and agreement. Lancelot was last to draw, raising his swords to the sky and bringing them down with a clear, bone-jarring ring of metal on metal.

"Knights!" announced Arthur, emerging from the great hall "We ride at first light to meet the carriage of bishop Germanus of Rome! He carries your discharge papers!" the knights cheered, but only half-heartedly as if they felt guilty doing so. Seeing the look that passed between Arthur and Lancelot, they left to reclaim their drinks and women. "What is it" he asked

"She's gone" he replied quietly

"Left you for another man my friend? Well, it is a sad thing but do not dwell on one woman! They can be found in abundance right under your nose; besides, I'm sure that we would be hard-pressed to find one who would turn you down this night."

"No, she's not left me for a man, she rode out on a mission; one she doesn't think she'll return from. She couldn't even tell me where she was going" he answered dully

"Well you must have anticipated that she was returning to family somewhere" Arthur said practically, coming again to the wrong conclusion.

"No, Arthur, not leave and never return as in family, no, no, leave and never return, die, never. She left me for a mission she thought she would not survive." He said brokenly

"Well she's an excellent swordswoman, I'm sure she can protect herself-" Arthur trailed off pathetically realizing that his words were having no effect. "At least I know of one medicine that cures all ills- drink and travel. Tonight you drink until you can drink no more, and tomorrow we ride. Perhaps your swords will find comfort in slicing through some Woad necks."

"If they be the ones that take her from me, nothing on this earth will keep me from my vengeance." He replied, his voice steel. The next morning after some serious drinking and womanizing, the Sarmatian knights rode out on the mission that would assure their freedom. Knowing that they rode through dangerous territory, they were terse and silent, each urging his mount to a quicker pace, thinking the sooner the bishop was reached the better. After a long day's ride, the reached a high bluff, where Arthur reined in his steed, pointing to a small caravan below them at the bottom of the hill. "The bishop's carriage" said Gwain triumphantly

"Our freedom Bors" smiled Galahad

"Mmm" replied Bors, smacking his lips

"Its so close I can almost taste it" His eye caught by a flash of color different from the roman red and gold, lancelot looked back sharply and found, amid the small guard of soldiers, a black charger, its rider petite and cloaked in midnight blue. A huge smile broke over his face like the sun after a storm . Behind him, the others smiled as well, knowing that there was a ninety nine percent chance that the rider was Camille who they knew to be Lancelot's but whom each was fond of anyways. Suddenly, an arrow streaked through the air, to hit a roman soldier, who toppled off his horse dead, following close behind came a veritable rain of arrows and a large band of fierce blue painted warriors.

"Woads" Arthur yelled. The seven knights raged down the hillside, anxious to save the man who was the bearer off that which they held most dear. Lancelot however, rode faster than them all, outdistancing them, determined not to loose the petite warrior he had come to love. She was on the opposite side of the carriage, defending its door from the barbarians when she was unhorsed. Furious, she leapt to her feet drew the rapiers and screamed her battle cry to the open skies, laughing defiantly at the fear it generated on the faces of her foes. He heard the singing and rounded the carriage to watch her cutting down the barbarian warriors as if they were standing still. Fierce pride rose in him at this as he cut a bloody path through the sea of blade wielding humanity in his path. Suddenly he heard a different noise-the cry of a woman wounded. He looked up to see her head thrown back as she screamed again, a Celtic bolt protruding from her shoulder. As if he felt the arrow as keenly as she he bellowed hoarsely in rage and rode to her side, his two swords wreaking deadly punishment on the Woads around him. Blood running down her arm and chest, she fought on, singing, no longer the hypnotizing lullaby, but an angry torrent of music, the words to ancient curses weaving themselves through the fabric of the hate and pain she felt. Terrified by the strength of the charms she was promising, her opponents retreated only to be met by the vengeful blades of the knights who had sworn to protect her, but had arrived seconds too late. One, more ambitious than the others, and hoping for an easy glory, turned from the swords of the Sarmatians and charged towards Camille, whose song was fading on her lips as she leaned on her swords to keep her upright. Weakly she drew the dagger, attempting to fend him off, but he knocked it aside and clubbed her face with his sword hilt, knocking her to the ground. Howling his victory, his raised his broadsword, in preparation to bring it down upon her. He looked up however, to meet the blood-crazed eyes of Lancelot who slammed down the Woads sword, smashed the hilt of the other into the man's face, and forcing him to fall to his knees. In a quick move, the crossed swords were at the man's throat, and he pulled swiftly towards him, severing the Woad's jugular veins on both sides, splattering his face and blades with blood. Allowing the warrior to sink to the ground dead, he rushed to her side and lifted her head to see that her face was badly bruised, lips dripping blood. He lifted her head and her eyelids fluttered as her chest rose weakly.

"I was returning" she gasped then coughed feebly.

"Returning to..you…" As if the words had exhausted her, her eyes slowly closed and her head dropped back.

Thanks again for reading. For another great K.A. fic try out Lalane Michaels galahad O.C. fic, it will have u absolutely rolling w/ laughter.


	6. cheating fate

A/N: thanks for all the great reviews. I guess I'll stick to this format, since it seems to be popular. This chptr is a little hard to follow because Germanus's dialogue is written with his accent included. Also I just realized my comp. has been auto correcting "Gawain" to Gwain, ACK! So sorry for the misspelling.

"Lancelot" said Tristran quietly; "If we do not remove that arrow, she will die" He looked up at the knight

"Best do it now when she's only semiconscious" Lancelot swallowed loudly then turned her over. There protruding from her shoulder was a barbed arrowhead, glistening with her blood. As quickly and gently as he could he snapped the arrowhead, jarring the shaft. Her eyes sprang open in pain as she moaned feverishly. Closing his eyes and praying to gods he claimed not to believe in he turned her back over and taking a deep breath, pulled on the shaft of the arrow. She screamed, writhing in agony, the tears ran down her face, mixing with the light rain that had begun to fall. He stopped, wild-eyed and panted,

"I cannot do it. To cause her this pain is something I cannot do"

"You must" urged Tristran.

"_I don't like anything that puts a man on his knees"_ he thought and dropped and with a hiss, pulled the shaft clear of her shoulder. Shrieking again at the unimaginable pain, her eyes rolled back and she collapsed again, this time completely unconscious, her face pale with a blue cast. Close to tears himself, he picked her up gently, and admitted,

"she needs a doctor" Tristran nodded and Arthur, his brow furrowed as he walked over to an imposing old man on horseback, watching them.

"Bishop Germanus." He said decisively. The man had a pointed gray beard with the wary look of a politician about him. He smiled and nodded saying in a heavily accented tone

"Ahhrthoor Cahstoos" "Thee eemage ohhf your fahhther" Arthur smiled briefly at this then turned as he looked worriedly at Lancelot, who held Camille, suspicious of the old Roman. Underneath the carriage, a short, scrawny, rodent faced man mumbled in Latin fervently, tears of absolute fear drying on his face. Crawling to the edge he peered out and asked Galahad

"Who is she; this demon woman casts black magic as she kills I heard the barbarians refer to her as 'twayblade'?"

"Just be glad she saved your disgusting hide" Galahad spat at the man, furious

"Yeah" agreed Bors "I personally would have left you to rot" then added on second thought

"Or maybe just dispatch you myself right off the bat to save from hearing the annoying whinging coming from beneath the wagon where you was _hiding_." The little man, who's name was Horton, was far too cowardly to glare at Bors, though he thought himself superior, and so lapsed back into his tearful sniveling.

"But she is a barbarian, like them! Are they all devils?" As if overdone by this thought, he commenced fervent Latin mumblings.

"Save your prayers boy, your god doesn't live here" Gawain ordered disgustedly. Thoughtfully, he looked down at a Woad, bleeding and clutching at his entrails weakly in the mud. Taking pity on the man he sent him off to the next world with a blow of his mace, spattering the carriage wheels-and Horton, with the man's blood. With a terrified squeak, the little rat-man scuttled deeper into the underbelly of the carriage. Back with Bishop Germanus, Arthur asked quietly,

"Bishop? That woman with your caravan, how did she come to join you?" The old man frowned

"Youh meeen that one dreassed aas a mahn?" his words contemptuous as he pursed his lips in distaste. Not liking the man's superiority but needing more information he pressed,

"Yes, how did she come to you?" "Wehl" the bishop answered, seemingly bored "Shee rohd ahp clahming she waas ohn a meesion for rohm. Wee deedn't beeleeve her but she hahd a message frohm wohn ohf my supeeriors. Wee where to gif her the location ohf the pope's godchild, Alecto, as she had urgent beesnus weeth hees fahther." Arthur looked shocked at this

"She was on a mission for Rome? Are you sure?" Now looking rather annoyed the Germanus replied

"Ohf course. Thahts what I said eesn't eet?" Concerned Arthur nodded and then left to speak to Lancelot. He found his friend at the other end of the caravan, administering a rough bandage to Camille's shoulder, in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He looked up his eyes frantic

"We must leave now Arthur. I have to get her to a doctor or she.." he broke off, not allowing himself to give voice to his fear. "I understand Lancelot, we will leave right away" Arthur reassured him. He turned and went to retrieve his horse, then gave the command to move out. Tristran, standing nearby held Camille as Lancelot climbed up into the saddle. Tristran lifted her, surprised to find that she was very light, and handed her into Lancelot's arms who laid her head against his chest, before wrapping his arms around her to find the reins. The other knights gathered around his horse as if they felt that by surrounding her, protecting her, they could ward off the death that was slowly gaining a handhold upon her. When they were finally in sight of the wall, they gave a collective sigh, and unwittingly increased their pace, desperate to get her to a doctor. As they clattered through the gates, Lancelot could not help but remember, watching her that night as, in spite of her, that single tear had slipped down her cheek. He knew there had been others she had not allowed herself to weep in front of him. In spite of her care not to be seen, he could had heard her sobs, proof that she was not the enchantress or spirit they had once believed her to be, but a woman, who even behind her pride, could not keep the tears from falling as she rode off to what should have been her death. How had she known, he wondered, that she would die? And was it fate, or just a coincidence that cheated death that he had found her in time? The horses pawed to a stop, and carefully dismounting, he roared for a doctor. Almost frightened by his vehemence, willing hands, pushed forward a little man in a gray tunic, who glanced around nervously before stuttering

"I'm not really a physician, really more of a simple herbalist but-" he got no further. Tristran swept in behind declaring,

"You'll do" and marched the man off to a room, followed by the knights and Lancelot, who held Camille as if she was made of glass and would shatter in his arms. Together the two men laid her on a bed and Lancelot smoothed her hair back from her face tenderly before retreating behind the little herbalist anxiously. Gently the man eased off the rough bandage, his eyes widening at the angry wound that met his eyes. Peering closer, he smiled suddenly.

"When I first saw this wound, I was sure the lady had internal bleeding and would die despite any precautions I might take. But it seems however" he went on hurriedly, nervous as Lancelot's knuckles turned white "That the arrow was poisoned, a common plant venom found in a meadow flower. Luckily, I have the antidote for this and if administered within the next hour, I must say I believe your lady will be quite herself in about a week." A smile split all of the faces in the room, as Bors swept the little herbalist into a bone crushing bear hug in thanks. Tristran spoke for Lancelot, who was far too overwhelmed to say a word.

"Many thanks sir. Arthur's knights will never forget your kindness this day. Should you ever need the assistance of a strong hand, bow, or blade, do not delay in seeking us out." The other men nodded, grateful, although more than one found it rather humorous that the seven most elite warriors in Briton owed a debt to a short little village herbalist, who made up for his size in stoutness of heart. The herbalist ran off and returned a few minutes later, with a tiny bottle of serum, which he applied with an even tinier brush on her wound. A shiver ran through her body and a moment later she opened her eyes, blinked, and whimpered softly. Kneeling by the low bed Lancelot released a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"How?" she asked weakly "You saved me?"

"We saved you" he smiled nodding towards the rest of the men who were smiling contentedly.

"Couldn't let him try by himself" Bors chuckled "He would have gotten us all killed!" She laughed with the rest but suddenly spasms of coughing racked her body, making her shudder and gasp as she sank back on the pillow

Pleeeeeeeeease review! Check out Lalane's Galahad fic for probably the biggest laugh yr gonna get in a long time


	7. A long tale

A/N: OK in this chaptr they get into the story of Camille past, indicated by the italics (its told frm the point of view of her mother) This story is kinda twisted and turned so hang on and enjoy the ride!

lowly, the knights filed out of the small room, until none were left but Lancelot, who knelt still by her bed, watching her sleep. Bitterly, he pondered on the irony of fate. Fifteen years of servitude, risking his life, he had survived. Then he had met her, fallen madly in love with her, and now, after refusing to relinquish her to the blades of the enemy, he might lose her again, to a foe he couldn't take on in single combat. He almost wished Arthur were there to pray over her, although he didn't believe in his god. She turned and opened her eyes.

"Lancelot" she whispered, her voice hoarse "Lancelot, I am so cold, so very cold." her mouth twisted in sadness and tears welled in her lovely eyes.

"Please. Hold me" He rose and slid onto his bed next to her pulling her against him cradling her.

"I will keep you safe even if I have to hold you here forever. never will anything take you from me again." She sighed and laid her head on his chest as he held her even closer. Through the haze of fever, she felt his arms strong and protecting wrapped around her. It had been so long since his troubled mind had allowed him rest that even though his fear tied knots of all his reason and common sense, eventually, his body relaxed and forced his mind into sleep. The next morning, Arthur came in and saw his friend, still holding Camille as if he let go his world would shatter. He shook him gently causing the other to shake his eyes drowsily and gently releasing her to sit, and rub his eyes.

"That must have been you first real sleep in months?" Arthur said congenially. Beneath his happy guise, Lancelot could see the concern.

"I believe it may be my last for the next few" he replied.

"Lancelot" Arthur began slowly "You haven't left her room at all. You haven't eaten. This-" he motioned around the room and at Camille, still sleeping "Its all…unhealthy" Lancelot's face tightened at this and he said quietly

"I'm not leaving Arthur, I let her go once, but never again."

"There are others who love her as well. At least let them have their chance to watch over her." Arthur argued. Lancelot shook his head stonily

"she is in pain, I can't leave her". Camille stirred and opened her eyes reassuring him

"I will not leave you yet my darling" Her fever had broken.

Summoned by Lancelot's yelling, Bors, Tristran, Galahad, and Gwain crept in, only to be shoved aside roughly by Vanora, who, completely undaunted by the testosterone she was thrusting aside like Moses and his proverbial red sea.

"Get out of the way! Now! Bors if you so much as touch my arse again, I'll lose my temper and introduce my fist to your scummy face!"

"I never!" whined Bors, who was at least two people away, Vanora whirled realizing that her lover had not been the culprit and singled out Gwain, who appeared to be biting his tongue rather hard, to keep from laughing. Galahad, unable to hold it any longer sniggered then immediately suppressed it. Bors following, if rather slowly, the turn of this silent conversation, realized that either Gwain or Galahad had taken an unchaste swipe at his woman's rear end roared at the general public

" Eh! You so much as touch her arse again I'll introduce my fist to your face" he nodded his head curtly, satisfied that he had successfully subdued the randy masses. Vanora rolled her eyes and shook her head in pity for her man

"Very original darling, and absolutely terrifying, as usual." Bors smiled happily as if he had just been patted on the head.

"Ask him if he wants a cookie" whispered Galahad audibly, causing Bors to chase him from the room, swinging his huge fists. Vanora smiled fondly at his exit and briskly pushed Lancelot out from the side of the bed. Pulling over a chair and sitting, she uncovered a wooden bowl, full of soup and a plate with some dark soft bread.

"Hungry dear?" she asked kindly "Quite" smiled Camille, then frowned apologetically

"If you could just help me sit up" Vanora reached up and helped her up into a sitting position. She handed her the soup and bread and ruffled her hair affectionately, rising from the chair.

"Now" she instructed, "you, all of you, leave the room and give the womenfolk some privacy." She cast a glare in Lancelot's direction who was sulking "that means you as well sir knight! You shall leave this room even if I have to grab you by your sulky little ear and drag you!" Afraid that one of their own was to be left to the terrible devices of a vengeful woman, the knights dragged Lancelot out the door, to many protests. Vanora came back and sat down. Camille smiled and sighed in relief as the door closed behind them.

"That's better isn't it" Vanora chuckled,

"Oh yes!" Camille agreed, "I love them all dearly, but they bring with them an intensity that can be extremely exhausting"

"Don't I know" it said Vanora ruefully, "It's hard to be linked with one of the great Sarmatian knights. They have force of personality that blows you over, but you cry yourself to sleep every night they're gone, which is often."

"Well at least I ride with them" Camille smiled, "although that in itself can be just exhausting"

"So…how exactly did you come to be riding alone, I mean, it must be lonely out there by yourself?"

"It's a very long tale" she broke off and set down the bowl, "one I haven't told anyone in an even longer time" she fell silent and regarded the other woman with solemn eyes "I suppose it cannot stay locked within my breast forever." Knowing she was about to be experience a blissfully long conversation with a woman who did more than simper and giggle for a living like the other women on the wall, Vanora unconsciously leaned forward and furrowed her brow.

"My mother was a beautiful, dangerous Woad warrior, named Wynth. Some say when she prepared for combat, even her own allies would run and cower from the sight of her face." In her eyes, the gray, frugal bedroom she saw gave way to a forest road, a slate gray sky, and heavy miserable rain falling down….

_When she rode into the village, she could hear them whispering her name. The mumblings melded with the sighing wind creating a cacophony of breath around her. She rode with no cloak or shawl, and the rain ran in clear rivulets down her bare arms and legs. Her fiery red hair was loose and soaked, creating further paths of water, which hung on her lashes and dripped from her nose. Her eyes, iron gray that matched the sky and the horse she rode, were cold and fierce at the same time. They said that she had been a slave to a roman lord before she had tired of his advances and slit his throat. She had escaped his guards, leaving five of them dying in pools of their own blood. They said she had no mercy for any living thing and nothing, no man, nor god himself, could tame her. Wynth rode into the village that day, her bow strung and her quiver full. Before the day died, she vowed, the last thing Gowan Kelbraiugh would see would be her iron gray eyes. _

Please review!


	8. those cold gray eyes

A/N-okay, this one's kinda short, so I'm gonna try to get the next one up asap. For any of you interested in Tamora Pierce's circle of magic books, I've started a second penname there (brierfox), and should be posting the beginnings of a story soon! Just so you know, the character Talorot is supposed to be a little like Tristran, except he's blond and he talks more :) Please enjoy and review!

_On the wall, Talorot Syrearm looked out across the expanse of wet green and brown forest beyond the gates. Tomorrow, he, his companions, and his commander, Uther Pendragon would ride to find the Celtic upstart that had murdered lord Pelinius Sartorus, and now had the audacity to raid the many small settlements just outside the gates with his band of equally scummy warriors. He sighed and turned to find Uther watching him. _

_ "What is it my scout?" _

_ "This man we hunt troubles me" Talorot replied lifting his head to the wind as if trying to discern the location of his foe by scent alone. Talorot was a beautiful man. White gold hair that was thick and fell to his shoulders tangled with the few thin braids that marked his occupation as a scout. He had piercing ice blue eyes with flecks of green that possessed a peculiar intensity all their own. His face was weathered due to a long hard life on the trail and a thin white scar ran the length of one cheek stopped under one eye by a dark blue triangular tattoo. He was very tall and lean like a wolf and he radiated danger and solemnity. The most fearsome fighter in the small corps of Sarmatian knights on the wall save Uther himself, he was not a man to be tangled with. No man had ever eluded his capture before, and he didn't plan on letting an upstart Woad boy be the first. Looking back at his commander he said softly _

_ "Let us ride my friend" Uther smiled, a lion to Talorot's wolf. "_

_ It will be a pleasure to feel the saddle beneath me once again." They rode out of the gates that day, intent on catching Wynth Arden, murderer, raider, Woad, and criminal. _

_Gowan Kelbraiugh was running away. His spies had warned him of Wynth's return, and he planned to be long gone before she could find him. He personally didn't consider it his fault that the information he gave to Lord Pelinius under duress had led to the attack, capture, and eventual burning of her village and its people. How could she think that he had deliberately sold her and her family and friends to the roman? _

_ "For goodness sakes" he thought "I only accepted money from the man once". Unfortunately, however, he didn't plan on sticking around long enough to meet her and tell her this, he was, by far, too much a coward for that. A pudgy, balding man with an unfortunate penchant for sweating, he was gathering his treasures, accumulated after years of service to masters both of Rome and Caledonia, and he was running away. As he slammed the lid shut on the last cache of valuables, a shadow fell across his door. He looked up and his mouth became suddenly and inexplicably dry. Wynth stood there, her arms folded across her breast, her hair dripping from the rain, and her iron gray eyes promising death. Several minutes later one of her band, a man by the name of Boaret came bursting into Gowan's tent, to find Wynth cleaning the blood from her long dirk on Gowan's rich tunic. _

_ "Wynth we must leave, Uther and his Sarmatian dogs are on our heels!" She stood quickly knocking over the chest. From it spilled several gold necklaces. Among them, a silver torque gleamed next to a matching one of gold. _

_ "My father's" she said sadly reaching for them _

_ "Wynth! We have no time! Leave them!" she managed to grab the silver one before Boaret seized her arm and dragged her to her horse. She swung up and called "_

_ Quickly let us ride!". They were gone like smoke just as Uther, Talorot, and the knights thundered into the now-ruined camp of Gowan Kelbraiugh._


	9. Ambush

A/N- this is a continuation of Camille's story. Thanks for your continuing support

_Talorot slammed down his knife in disgust. They were gone, after murdering the most effective spy employed by the wall in years. Uther walked into the tent only to turn away his face from the very messy death of the worm within. Talorot followed him and knelt by the chest. He picked up the golden torque Wynth had been forced to leave. _

_ "If I know Woads," he intoned "Which I do- they must have been forced to leave in a hurry if they left this" he indicated the torque he held "they must have left shortly before we arrived, startled off. Therefore, they'll probably lurking close by waiting until tonight to swoop in and relieve us of this little lot" _

_ "A trap then, you think?" mused Uther thoughtfully _

_ "with this gold as bait" agreed Talorot, showing all of his teeth in a savage grin "perhaps your axe will be put to use tonight after all" _

_ "As will your sword" Uther said, grinning back. The two left the tent and called the rest of the knights over into a huddle "Now" whispered Uther "This is what we'll do…" _

_Wynth and Boaret watched the men from a safe distance, ensconced deep within the cover a tree. _

_ "I must get that necklace" she muttered _

_ "lady? That gold would be a very useful contribution to our cause" Boaret ventured, _

_ "It would, wouldn't it?" she replied. "Gather your men, here is what we will do…" _

_ That night, true to Talorot's prediction, Wynth and her men, stole into the camp where all the knight's lay sleeping. _

_ "Dispatch them," she ordered in a low voice. The Woads stole up on the sleeping figures by the fire. Freeing their swords from their sheaths, they brought them down upon the blanketed men beneath them. Boaret pulled his broadsword free and inspected what he saw to be a bundle of straw, moss, and twigs, artfully arranged to look like a sleeping body. Comprehension dawned on his face just as an arrow thudded into his back, ending his troubles forever. Wynth and her remaining three men whirled to face eight of the knights who charged from their hiding places in the tree cover. Howling furiously, they met with an ear-jarring clash. The Woads were three to eight but they fought bravely, knowing, they were fighting for their lives. _

_However, the superior numbers began to tell on them and soon they were surrounded. With a roar, Talorot dropped his bow and quiver and pulled free his sword to fend off an attack from one of the men. He dispatched him easily and closed in on the red-haired woman, ringed from all sides, yet still wreaking havoc with her two long swords. The knights, recognizing his silent order, fell back to allow him sole access to her. _

_ She smiled fiercely and thrust ferociously with one sword as the other whistled inches from his throat. He realized that he was against a warrior equal to his strength and skill and was thereby outraged when one of the braver knights slipped behind her and pulled a garrote tight about her throat. The remaining male Woads were disarmed and on their knees and so watched helplessly as she struggled against her unseen assailant. Furiously, Uther slammed the man on the head with the butt of his axe, knocking him unconscious to the ground in acknowledgement of the fact that it was Talorot's fight. The woman rose gasping for air as she reclaimed her swords and swung exhaustedly towards, still determined to fight and win. Realizing that there would be no glory in killing such a beautiful creature when the odds were unfairly against her, he sent her blades flying from her tired hands with one swipe but caught her as she fell, eyelids fluttering in sheer fatigue. _

_ "Bind them and set them by the tree", Uther commanded "We'll take them back to the wall" Talorot squatted in front of the prisoners and addressed a hulking man with a nasty gash above one eyebrow _

_ "Are you Wynth?" he asked. The man did not respond and he continued, "Well if you are not, I don't really care. He is either sitting here bound before me or dead. So where is the rest of your mighty fighting force? Surely, a criminal as famous as you wouldn't dare roam without a larger band of scum to protect you" A short cleaver looking man beside him laughed harshly and said  
_

_ "You fool! There have never been more than five of us!" _

_ "You are Wynth then?" Talorot replied shrewdly. A sharp bitter laugh answered this remark and he turned to see the woman watching him defiantly. She smiled, her dark lips parting to reveal white teeth _

_ "I am Wynth" As he stood, struck and partially stunned by the fact that such a figure of current legend was a woman, the ropes dropped from her as if by magic and her fist, clenched around the tiny dagger with which she had cut the rope, met his jaw with a satisfying thud, laying him out on the ground. Moments later, she had run through the startled knights, scattering them like nine pins and disappeared into the trees. As they grabbed their weapons and started after her the large man spoke in a deep booming voice _

_ "Fools! You will never catch her, she is Wynth Arden, sister of the forest and lover of the wind!" _

_ "Whether or not his claims about her family or sex life are true" Uther commented dryly "I do believe that we have little chance of catching her in her home forest at the moment." _

_ "No" agreed Talorot, rising as he spat out blood "But I swear I will not rest until I have tracked her down and dragged her back to the wall in chains!" _

_ "And bedded her I suppose" added Uther thoughtfully._

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	10. tradgedy and absolution

A/N- okay this is the conclusion toCamille's past. Now I can return to the present, phew. I want tosay thanks a million to my three most faithful and favorite reviewers, ephona, eradwyn, and meraculus.

As Wynth cried herself to sleep in Talorot's embrace, the trees, campfire, and the people sleeping around it, disappeared to be replaced by the stolid nondescript features of the sickroom. Camille shook herself as if to clear her head.

"As you may well imagine my parents married and lived together at the wall. My mother bore two girls my sister, Gwendolyn, and myself. Her execution, some called it murder, of Gowan Kelbraiugh would come back to haunt her though. After my father had finished his term on the wall. They moved to a small settlement just north of the wall to be among some of my mother's remaining kinsmen and friends. I grew up there, quite content with my lot in life. When I was almost fourteen, a striking new warrior joined our camp. His name was Teak and he was the possessor of my little-girl's heart from the moment I laid eyes on him. Far from noticing a scruffy little girl who snuck out of her household chores and went to shoot and spar with the boys, he had his eyes set on Gwendolyn. Teak had a dark secret however, one that would destroy my family and my life as I knew it. One day, early morning, we woke, besieged by roman infantry. The men ran for their weapons and my mother ushered the women and children into a secure area, ever the commanding warrior. Foolish as I was, I ran for Teak and threw myself at his feet where he was lounging with his breakfast. I should have noticed that this was unusual since you could hear the sounds of battle, but in my eyes, he could do no wrong. I told him to flee, for since he was a Caledonian war hero, he would certainly be a target. He laughed at me and when I insisted and became hysterical, slapped my face, knocking me down. When I recovered consciousness I ran back to my village to find our warrior's dead or fleeing, routed by the Romans. In the center I saw my mother, her hands bound, on her knees. Teak paced in front of her his sword unsheathed. I heard him laugh at her and tell her

"Now you will pay, murdering whore, for murdering my father"

"Gowan was a liar, informant, traitor, and slave scum, not fit for my blade!" she spat back at him, unafraid. His face purpled and in one motion he stepped forward and ran her through. I did not scream. I knew that if I was found I would be murdered as well. I hid sobbing silently, as they looted the village and left. As if they were mere trifles, Teak took her swords and cleaned them scornfully on her dress. When they had left I ran to her side. Her red hair was streaked with gray and her eyes were no longer steel gray but glazed over and colorless in death. I closed them for her and said a prayer. After a few minutes searching, I found my father, his body trampled into the mud. The pigs had even taken the amber beads woven into his braids. Continuing on numbly, I came upon Gwendolyn. She was dead; her beautiful face mutilated and slashed open. I dragged their bodiesto a campfire,my best attempt at a pyre and burned them, crying out all the tears inside. They next day dawned gray, like my mother's eyes. Looking at the sky I could almost feel her next to me and I could hear her voice, as well as my father's debating as they so loved to do.

"Hunt down the bastard, take up my swords and bow" she whispered,

"My little girl, you are a warrior among warriors" hebreathed "Live in remembrance of us"

"Avenge us," whispered Gwendolyn in my ears.

I realize now that I was delirious from grief and shock, but I would swear upon all the gods that he shades of my family lingered with me advising and comforting me. I had seen Teak depart with not only the blades of my mother, but the dirk of my father, his favorite weapon and tool, the same with which he had tracked down my mother. Both my parents had passed down a fierce pride that demanded vengeance, as they had sought in their own lives at some point. Coupled with my mother's stubbornness and my father's wisdom, I had no choice but to don a weak, poorly-made roman blade, discarded in favor of some spoil or another, and strike out against the man who had become my mortal enemy. Eventually I did find and kill Teak; I'll spare you the details, but when he died I retrieved my mother's swords and my fathers dirk. They are the weapons I carry today. I was lucky in that Teak was a healthily detested man with many enemies, so no one protested at his death nor pried too closely into the identity of his killer. Still whispers spread about me, and soon challengers appeared, seeking to slay a celebrity killer. Thankfully, the skill and cunning I had inherited from my ancestors saw me through any such messy affairs, and my sex, as well as the fact that it was self-defense, always protected me from legal action. Unfortunately, other, more clever ears heard tell of my skills and sought to employ me. These ears were roman and knowing that I would never accept a roman master, sought to entrap me. This man, very high ranking, and too powerful for me to mention his name, sent a band of men to ambush me. They were to engage me in combat and if I were to dispatch a few of his cronies, well they were expendable. I managed to take out three of them before being taken myself. They marched me back to the wall and the five survivors declared me their attacker, who had wrongfully ambushed them, murdering three. Against five male witnesses, I had no chance of acquittal, especially before a roman commander who feared me himself. Feeling no qualms, he sentenced me to death, only to be thwarted by the politician, who swooped in pardoning me on the condition that I would take up service with him. I was to perform ten missions in his service and then my penance would be through. Under the wing of this man, I killed his enemies and went as far as to fight the gladiators in the arena of Rome.

For final mission, he sent me back to Britain my homeland, Caledonia, in fact, to track down the godson of the pope, Alecto, and give his father valuable information about the man's political enemies back in Rome. The mission was one of suicide and we both knew it. I took it readily, however, feeling there was nothing left to live for. When I reached the shore of Britain and disembarked the leaky boat in which I had crossed the water, a feeling I had assumed I would never feel again knocked me over. What some call the "witchery of Britain" went running through my veins and I realized that if I were to survive, I would be free, no longer anyone to kill, fight or beat on for the politician. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders as the weight of the bodies of my mother, father, and sister left. Their shades kissed my cheeks and forehead, silent goodbyes. I wove my way through the trees, towns, and roads of this land until I heard that a corps of Sarmatian knights was headed my way. Curious to meet those who were of my father's homeland; I tracked them and rode ahead to meet them. From there, you know the rest of my story."

"Quite the life you've led, Vanora sighed, a bit jealous, even as she wiped a tear from her cheek. "And the weapons of your parents?" she asked. Camille smiled,

"I am surprised you have not guessed" she motioned at the side of her bed where, her two long swords were sheathed next to the belt that contained the dirk.

"They are!" Camille nodded and smiled. It felt good to finally have shared her sorrow, her joy, and her story at last.

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	11. explanation

A/N-again thanks very much for reading and reviewing, I realize the story's moving pretty sloooow, but things are going to speed up starting pretty soon

A gentle knock sounded on the door and Arthur popped his head cautiously around the door, obviously having been previously warned by the men. He smiled sheepishly and asked,

"Can I come in?"

"Of course Arthur" Vanora said and stood briskly gathering the now empty bowls. "You two probably have things to discuss" She smiled pleasantly, thanked Camille for the conversation and left. As soon as the door closed, they heard her voice again, yelling at one of the knights for getting in her way. The two smiled at each other, as Arthur assumed the chair by the bed.

"So I hope you're uh feeling better." She smiled and answered

"Very much rested actually, I managed to have my conversation with the bishop before I was put out of action"

"That's what I was going to ask you about" he replied "I spoke to Bishop Germanus a bit myself and he had mentioned that you were on a mission in Rome"

"yes," she nodded "I must find and speak to Marius Honorius, the father of Alecto Honorius" When he looked like he would question her mission further she held up her hand "Arthur, you are a great man, and I would very much like to entrust you with further details, but that is just not possible. My word of honor, sworn on my swords, belongs to a man whose name I cannot even tell you. If-no when I complete my mission, my words and my tongue will once again belong to me and I can give you further information." He looked disappointed but knew that to swear on a weapon was one of the most serious vows a soldier could take "In the meantime however, I would be very thankful if you would escort me the courtyard, I believe I have some thanks to offer."

"But you can't get out of bed yet!" he frowned "you need rest, you're far too ill" she grinned and assured him

"Don't worry I've traveled with much worse" she took a big breath and slowly lifted herself from the bed Arthur said in amazement

"one would think you're as hardy as the gladiators" her expression sobered

"It is true"

"What" he asked, puzzled,

"What you say of the gladiators. They are an incredibly strong and resilient group of men. I have been honored enough to cross blades with several in the ring. I've lost plenty of blood at the point of their swords" He was taken aback

"You're a woman! Why would you fight a gladiator?"

"It was my fourth mission to fight and kill one particular man who was troubling my master. His name was Argus" Arthur's mouth dropped open

"_You _killed Aragus?" Even out here, so far from Rome, we heard tell of his downfall. Rumor had it that a strange and barbaric newcomer had tricked his way into victory" She smiled and admitted

"one and the same. It was truly through wits that I defeated him. I am half the warrior that he was. He was also a great man. I was sorry to have had to kill him." She trailed off. Straightening up, she winced slightly and held her door open as he exited before her.

"The men are waiting in the great hall at the moment, to receive their discharge papers. It should only be a short ceremony and we will shortly return your knight to your custody." She grinned at this and asked

"Can I wait in the courtyard then?" when he nodded she added

"but don't tell Lancelot though, I want to surprise him" He looked at her conspiratorially and laughed

"I shan't breathe a word." They parted ways in the hall and she made her way to the tavern, which was busy catering to the roman soldiers who were off duty. She marveled to herself at the length of time it had been since she had worn anything but the dark dusty clothes of a warrior. From deep within one of her saddlebags she had retrieved a full, long green skirt, a matching jerkin, which was sleeveless and laced up the front. Underneath a white camisole was loose at the neck and the sleeves fell to her elbows. She had unbound and brushed out her hair to a glossy sheen letting it fall in a dark curtain nearly to her waist. She felt almost uncomfortably feminine. When she arrived at the bar she called Vanora and asked if she could help serve. The other woman, frazzled in trying to prepare for the coming celebration, gratefully relinquished her twin pitchers of ale. Cheerfully, she took them and commenced a route, which circled the tables of already intoxicated men. In the great hall, Lancelot was fidgeting. He appreciated the cask of fine wine the bishop had presented them with, but was rather bored with the speech he had decided to give; something having to do with Rome's gratefulness to them. He was jolted from his reverie by the statement

"A massive Saxon incursion has begun in the north" he narrowed his eyes and looked searchingly at the old man. His suspicions only raised further when he requested that they leave in order to allow him to speak to Arthur. Knowing that the knights would follow his lead, he stood and said gravely, staring directly at Arthur

"Come, let us leave roman business to Romans." Slowly the other knights stood and followed him, although not before Gawain had commandeered what was left of the wine. He stalked from the room, occupied with his own thoughts to be met by the smells and noise emanating from the tavern. His muscles relaxing he sat at one of the benches and banged the table, a universal sign for 'get me a drink and make it strong'. A voice queried behind him,

"Because 'could I have a drink please" was too hard to say?" he whirled to find Camille smiling, one hand on her hip the other slung through the handle of a pitcher. His jaw dropped.

"you're a girl!"

"Well yes I suppose" she said doubtfully looking down at herself

"I mean, no, I mean you're dressed like one"

"Oh good" she said, relieved, "I thought you were really confused there for a second. He grinned suddenly,

"So can I have you on my lap this time?" She returned his with an impish one of her own

"'Fraid not, I've got drinks to serve." He stood and followed her to a group of tables where the rest of the knights were raising great hilarity with the remainder of the wine.

"Any refills over here?" she called

"Camille!" slurred Bors "you have recovered! Celebrate gal! Grab a lap to grace and a neck to kiss!" Worried that some enterprising male other than himself might take the initiative, Lancelot quickly seized her pitcher, set it on the table, and pulled her down to his lap. Unruffled she remarked,

"Well I suppose that if I want to stay here, I'll have to admit to being your woman"

"That you will," said Gawain mournfully, though seriously drunk with a brunette of his own on his knee. The next half hour was heaven for Camille. She was safe and warm, protected and among friends. She relished the simple pleasures of laughter and a sense of belonging. The peace was not to last however, Jols the squire, saw Arthur and called him over to join the celebration. Seeing the look on his face both she and Lancelot felt a chill of premonition. Camille rose and left silently, desperate to preserve the illusion that her life was content and warm, even if only for a few more minutes.

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	12. reality

A/N- okay, what I said about speeding up...well I'm getting there, i promise! ;) I just couldn't resist throwing in a little angst for now, read and enjoy! (sorry, this one's kinda short!)

Lancelot stormed from the out from the stables. Arthur refused to listen to him. A suicide mission after their supposed freeing? How dare Arthur ask this of them! He cradled his head in his hands. How was he going to tell Camille? He trudged slowly down the hall to his room, where she had been staying. Reluctantly he pulled aside the curtain to find her stepping out of her dress. He stepped back quickly, apologizing mechanically as she gasped and pulled it back up quickly.

"Can I come in now?" he asked apologetically

"Yes, come in" she called. Her face was flushed and she rose and crossed the room to sit on the bed when he entered.

"We'll be leaving tomorrow for one final mission" he said in a rush, wanting to get it over with. Surprisingly, she did not react but smiled slightly and replied

"Well, expect company, I leave tomorrow as well" When his face dropped at this news she asked concernedly

"What's wrong". He could feel his temper rising, burning within his skin, as he fought to clear his mind of the frustration he felt. "Lancelot?" she repeated gently

"Camille! You cannot just continue traipsing around! You're going to get killed" he burst out. She looked confused and started

"but-" he didn't let her finish, all the anger he felt against himself, Arthur, Germanus, and the world came bubbling out, uncontrollably, directed at her

"When are you going to grow up and realize you can't spend your life running around playing dress-up and pretend, with your armor and toy swords!" he broke off at the hurt he saw in her dark eyes

"Camille" he sighed as she turned away from him, her hair hiding her face. "Camille come on, you know I didn't mean that!" she whirled, unable to hide her hurt

"Dress up? That's what you think it is, oh noble knight? Unfortunately, whether you APROVE of it or not I will ride out tomorrow with or without your consent! Do you think that you are so high and mighty that you may order me around like some silly bar wench? Yes, Lancelot, I will ride tomorrow, by myself, and if I should be slain and if you should find my body, what will you do? Dress me in women's clothing before you bury me so that if I played at games in life at least I may be forced to face reality in death?" She finished, chest heaving, obviously very upset. He reached out and touched her arm and she jerked away,

"Don't do this, please? I don't think you're playing at games. Dammit Camille! I just don't want to lose you!" she looked as if she was about to either speak or cry so he hurried on

"look. Remember that night when I met you and we sat together by the fire?" she cut him off

"Do not speak of that to me now. Are you so intent on 'not losing me' that you would lock me away, to molder like some housewife here at the wall? One whose only function is to keep your bed warm on the few nights that you are home from doing god knows what?"

"No I-" he started again, but she suppressed at sob and shoved past him, out the door.

After a long absence ;) lalane Michaels' hysterically funny fic is updated! Please read, I can garuntee a huge laugh! I need 2 reviews to post the next chaptr, Thankyou!


	13. reconciliation

A/N- wow...well let me start out by apologizing to katemary77. (for any of you who remember that incident) with hindsight and with the addition a real and definately honest to goodness (not to mention baseless) flame i must admit that my reaction seems way overblown now. but holy crap! people please! don't make accusations without knowing the story line or even the history behind your statements! ACK! well, putting this nasty bit of business behind us we're moving towards the next big event in the movie plot line, not to mention the story line!

sorry about this but i had to throw in a little fluff (this is probably the only time im gonna do this in the story)

It was Tristran who found her, curled up at the top the wall, her knees to her chest, her hair blown into knots by the strong wind.

"What are you doing up here Milady far from the celebration and your knight?"

"He is not my knight" she stated bitterly

"You know" he began thoughtfully, " and he would be the first to admit it, Lancelot has never stayed with a woman longer than one night."

"It looks as if he will continue his winning streak then" she laughed sadly

"Not so, milady, you see, he's already been obsessed with you for days"

"It appears his obsession has ended" she said wistfully.

"Again, not so, you see, I just passed the poor man and he is drinking himself into a stupor for the fourth night in a week, a rarity for Lancelot. He does not being a slave to mead or ale." She looked almost hopeful but then sighed,

"He thinks of me as chattel, a little girl who plays at being a soldier boy"

"Wrong again" he chimed

"he does not like soft-hearted or weak women. In this he almost stole Vanora from Bors, but that was long ago." The tall solemn scout regarded her seriously "Dame Twayblade you have taken his heart as no woman has ever done." He said using the name she had been given by the Woads,

"take it from a man who has spent fifteen long years riding beside him. If you forsake Lancelot, it will be as if he's lost his family once again." He nodded gravely to her and walked off, leaving her to think on his words.

She rose and headed back to his room, where she sank onto the bed and buried her face in the pillow. It smelled clean and masculine, the lingering almost indiscernible scent of the forest mixed with the slight tang of dirt and horse. She allowed a tear to seep from beneath her eyelids as she lay down and prepared to cry herself to sleep. Several minutes later however, Lancelot stepped in stopping abruptly at the sight of her. He advanced, hesitantly, toward her, but then shook his head and walked back towards the door. Swallowing her pride she called after him

"Lancelot! Wait!" he turned back slowly if almost eagerly as she told him hesitantly "It would be wrong to deprive you of your room Sleep here tonight?" he nodded and took a blanket and pillow, starting for the floor. She spoke again, a note of pleading and desperation in her voice "there's room here for two, you needn't sleep on the ground." It was almost a whisper, as if she was afraid he would reject her. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as he rose and crossed to the bed. He kicked off his boots and pulled his shirt over his head. She caught herself staring as he flexed his arms and chest, stretching. He was well muscled after a lifetime of battle and riding and a map of scars crisscrossed chiseled sinews. He smiled at her blush and sank down next to her tentatively. Almost shyly, she nestled closer to him until she could feel the warmth of his skin. Sighing, she rolled over and shut her eyes, comforted by his presence. He lay staring at the sky, acutely aware of her beside him. He felt a jolt when her hip brushed against his as she turned over. Cautiously he turned with her and placed an arm around her waist. Happily she turned again, nestling her head against his chest. He smiled curled his hand further around her waist, pulling her closer. Camille was in absolute bliss. For as long as she could remember, she had dreamt of a man to hold her like this, just to hold her and demand nothing else, just to be content to have her in his arms. Lancelot was happy as well. He had been sure that with his stupid tongue, he had run her off. But yet here she was, allowing him to hold her. He bent his head and brushed her forehead with his lips. She looked up at him with tenderness in her eyes. She reached her arms up and wrapped them around his neck, responding with a kiss of her own, allowing him to pull her up against him.

"Camille?" he whispered into her lips "What I said earlier, I didn't-" she put her fingers to his lips then stopped his words with her own burying her hands in his curls and pulling him into an embrace that was forgiveness in itself.


	14. the gift

A/N- Hey the next one's up! I know this just sounds like more fluff, but this will be imp. later! My friend and future co-writer, Lalane michaels and I have started a proboards forum for our readers. It's a really cool place where people can share ideas talk about books/movies/etc. that they like and get to know other readers/writers/reviewers. Come visit us at http:lalaneancamille. (okay, there's some copyright block or something on that. you can either check the website listed on my profile or make these changes: there's two back slashes (/) after the : and before the lalane, and put .pro boards 38 (w/o spaces) after lalaneancamille, then add a .com after the pro boards)

The next morning, Lancelot awoke, his arms and legs intertwined with hers. He watched her face and forced himself to come to grips with the fact that he could not keep her from battle and danger. Her absolute lack of fear, contempt for what men would make her, and skill with her weapons were what drew him irresistibly to her, just as it broke his heart to be unable to keep her safe. Carefully he untangled himself from her and dressed quietly as she slept on. He went to the corner, in which, glinting menacingly his short broad swords were propped, next to their sheaths. From beneath them he drew small drab bag. Pulling open the drawstring and peered inside. He looked up as she gave a heavy sigh of sleep and tossed and turned. Re-closing the bag, he made his way over to her and shook her shoulder gently.

"Go 'way Gwendolyn, tell mama I'll be up soon" she mumbled incoherently wriggling further underneath the blanket. He grinned and seized a feather that had freed itself from the pillow. Dabbing it lightly under her nose, he was rewarded when she snorted and slapped his hand away. Like a naughty child he grinned again and poked it in her ear. She came awake suddenly, flinging herself at him and tackling him to the floor. Surprised that she could muster such force he blinked up at her. She blinked back, still trying to clear sleep from her mismatched eyes. Suddenly she started laughing and he joined in as she rolled off him and offered him a hand. He took it and pulled himself up, still chuckling.

"Well I see you're up now." He said smiling.

"With a little help" she groused, smiling anyways.

"We leave this morning" he said, his face suddenly solemn. Her mouth pulled in as she became cautious

"Yes we do"

"Camille" he said in a rush "Look, I'm not going to stop you from coming with us, I know you can take care of yourself, but will you at least stay close to me so I know it for a fact?" She relaxed and approached him, wrapping her arms around his waist and promising,

"Alright then, I'll stick close to you" His muscles relaxed and he hugged her back, then remembered the bag. Guiding her back to the bed, he sat down and held it up saying impulsively,

" I want you to have this." She accepted it then said excitedly

"What is it?" "Why don't you open it?" he laughed at her impetuousness as she pulled it open and drew out its contents. Her eyes widened as she beheld a ring hanging from a chain of silver as thin as spider silk. It was beautiful, entrancingly so, a thick silver band set with a large scarlet stone that glittered like blood. Intricate silver work, almost lace-like set off the stone, making it a thing of great and almost terrible beauty. Her mouth dropped slightly as he took it from her palm and fastened it around her neck. She raised her fingers and touched it, where it lay against her skin.

"Lancelot? Oh, it's beautiful!" she breathed finding his eyes with her own "Where did you get it?"

"An old woman gave it to me when I was younger. She said I would need it" he looked away and she felt that he wasn't telling her the entire story but she smiled and clasped his hand around it.

"Thank you Lancelot, I will treasure it forever." He smiled and they rose and headed to the door. Whatever fate threw at them, they would face together.

I need two reviews to post the next chptr! thanks for reading


	15. the fight in the forest

A/N- ugh things are progressing a little slow round here writing wise at least. But I do highly recommend that you check out our website (our- meaning mine and Lalane Michael's, my good friend and future co-author) at

h t t p : l a l a n e a n c a m i l l e . p r o b o a r d s 3 8 . c o m

It's a really cool place where you can get to kno other readers, talk through ideas for future writings and discuss fav movies books etc.. Hope to see you there!

The reached the stables and parted to gather their gear. Secretly, Lancelot hoped that it would be the last time for her. He could not quite quash the desire to have her stay home. However, anyone could see the contentment in her face as she turned her hand to familiar tasks, and he felt guilty for even thinking it. From the opposite side of the room, Tristran, ever a loner was perched, like a lion in the shade, lazily running a whetting stone down the already keen edge of his blade. He gave a small smile as he observed the two lovers stealing glances at each other across the room, attempting to unobtrusive, and failing. Satisfied that his advice had gone to good use he returned his attention back to his sword. A noise at the door caused them to lift their heads; with the reflexes born of long experience on the battlefield. Arthur walked in. His hair was tousled and his face held a mixture of sadness, wisdom, and almost doggish wariness. When none of his knights leapt for their swords and charged towards him, the muscles in his shoulders relaxed and he seemed to drop several years from his tall frame. Looking around, Camille saw that although she could see anger and reproach in the faces of some of the men it was far outshone with their respect and devotion to the tall haggard man before them. Smiling sadly he raised his hands and said

"my knights? Let us ride one final time", it was eerily related to his ill-fated words he had uttered upon embarking to escort the bishop; their "last mission". Silently, Camille and the men gave their horse's girths an extra tug, sheathed and shouldered their weapons, mounted their horses, and rode out of the dusty stable, into the weakly sunlit courtyard. At the gate, Bors turned and gave one final wave to Vanora and she waved back. Camille could see that her face was hard; she knew the other woman would weep once she was on her own. They rode low and light, carrying only the most essential equipment and heads bent to their horses necks, running as fast as they could be carried.

In the forest, a nasty surprise awaited them. Thorny vines and crude picket fences sprang from the underbrush, triggered by Woad archers, cutting off any escape to what appeared to be a large-scale ambush. Furious to be faced with the prospect of perishing before they could finish their mission and be free. They nocked arrows to bows, drew swords and bit back cries of fury. Groups of spearmen pinned them in and they could sense the scores of archers that hid in the trees.

"Go on then, why don't you shoot?" yelled Gwain defiantly. Tristran, Galahad, and Camille held their drawn bows tensely, ready to release the shafts and take down as many Woads as possible with them.

"I didn't know you shot," remarked Tristran calmly to Camille, as if they were at a tea party instead of an ambush in which they were most likely going to die.

"Father's bow" she said shortly, her eyes on the trees

"Is every weapon you own inherited from a parent?" he quipped in reply. She allowed herself a smile that showed all her teeth,

"It's right that way, seeing they taught me to use them" He smiled at this, he too had heard the stories of how she had dispatched her family's killer, although he had kept his opinions on the matter to himself, as usual. As the sat there, pinned down beneath the trees, they heard the hollow, reedy, wavering cry of a horn. Everyone looked up, trying to find its source. It sounded again and as quickly as they had come, the Woads vanished back into the trees.


	16. the saxon drums

A/N- another day (well another coupla days) another chptr! Come check out my website (I'm not writing it down anymore, check my profile) I'm serious!

Shaken but still very much alive, they pressed forward through the awful weather determined to reach their goal. When the sunset, they stopped dispiritedly and huddled under the misery tree cover to shield from the bone-chilling drizzle. At one point Galahad pointed out that a fire might be a good idea, but was quick to be reprimanded by the others for not using his head. A fire, no matter how small, if they were even able to start one in such weather, could summon unwanted enemies. So in the rain they sat, hunched beneath cloaks and armor, roughing life in the wilderness. The next morning they woke, sodden and dispirited and remounted their equally dispirited horses. When they thundered into marcus Honorious' courtyard they were freeze-dried by the wind and their moods were no better for it. A small fat man that reminded Camille unpleasantly of her mother's stories of Gowan Kelbraiugh. Through the rolls of fat on his chins (all three of them) and his quaking jowls, what looked like it may once have been a smile emerged.

"Ahhrthoor, Ahhrthoor!" he cried, in the same self-affected accent as Germanus.

"weeelcooom too my home" Arthur was not about to bandy words with a pompous nobleman and abrubtly informed

"Our orders are to evacuate you immediately" . The grimace-like smile dropped like a stone and the old man drew himself up in a mountain of outraged quivering flesh.

" That's eempossible! I veell not leaf my hoome!" Arthur stared coldly down his nose and informed him menacingly

"If I fail to bring you and your family back with me, my men can never can never leave this land. So you're coming back with me if I have to tie you behind my horse and drag you all the way to hadrian's wall myself...my lord" Furiously the fat man backed down as Arthur stormed off to right the wrongs being done to the serfs of the household. Left sitting, slightly bewildered, Camille dismounted and approached Marius. She inclined her head respectfully and began

"M'lord? My name is Camille and I bring you news from Rome." He glared at her, but accepted the letters she produced, one bearing a purple stamp and the other a less prestigious red one. His eyes widened slightly at the crests on the seals.

"Whooo ahre theeese layters froom?".

"The first is from Bishop Germanus, staying at the wall. The second is from my late master in rome." She leaned forward and whispered the man's name in his ear. His eyes widened even more than narrowed as he sneered

"Ahhh Ih've heard off yoou. How mahny behds deed yoou grease tooo geet thee johb as hees assassin whoore?" Her eyes glowed with anger but she brushed off the insult and sauntered away. He spluttered at this dismissal and yelled at her retreating back

"Wheere are yoou goingk? I deehdn't geehf yoou permission tooo leaf!"

"keeehs mahy aahhhss!" she called over her shoulder, mocking his accent. Meanwhile, Tristran was informing Arthur of the dire situation growing around them.

"The only way out is to the east across the mountains" he concluded then asked, frowning

"Arthur? Who are all these people?" around them, the serfs Arthur had warned were gathering their meager belongings

"They're coming with us." He replied bluntly.

"Then we'll never make it" commented the scout as if this did not phase him in the lease. Somewhere, in the forbidding mountains around them, they began to hear the pounding of the Saxon drums.

please review!


	17. hell on earth

A/N- kk guys here's the next chapter, after this we get into some kinda dark days (oooo plot twists :)) and the plot will thicken. BTW- note to all KA writers LANCELOT'S EYES ARE _**NOT**_ BLUE! (this is a SERIOUS pet peeve of mine)

Camille, still fuming at the disgusting roman stormed over to Lancelot, who was watching Arthur tramp over to a small dark building, being walled up. Lancelot looked at her curiously, noting the fury in her face but didn't ask. Instead he bumped his mount threateningly against a guard who refused to move for his leader. A sinister shriveled man boarding the door barred their way and moaned in a withered voice

"No one goes in here, it is forbidden!" They tore the door open anyways and traveled down into what appeared to be hell on earth, shock evident on their faces. Inside walled cells and hideous machines of torture corpses rested, stinking and rotting. A priest, in whose eyes burned the feverish glow of insanity, seized Lancelot by the arm and tried to stop him, crying

"how dare you set foot in this holy place!". Swiftly, the knight turned and drove his blade hard into the man's body, horribly enraged and reviled by the horrors their twisted minds had put to work. All swallowed bile at the smells that emanated from the bodies, broken and torn in their prisons. Camille made it all the way to the back where she released the door to the last prison. She cried out in dismay and her eyes rolled back in her head. Falling to her knees she wretched, vomiting on the floor. Lancelot rushed over to help but drew back, shocked. Within the last cage lay a woman, naked and horribly mutilated, facedown and dead, one arm reaching for a baby, just as mutilated, whose tiny head was fallen in and crusted with blood, as if crushed by the heel of a man's boot. Horrified he pulled her up and away from the gruesome cell over to Arthur, who carried a thin wasted girl, delirious and close to death in his arms. When they emerged back into the daylight Arthur bellowed for water to be brought to the girl and a young boy, rescued by Dagonet. Camille unable to repress the image of the mother, reaching in death for her tortured infant, tore from Lancelot's arms and vomited again on the ground huddled and wreathed in the newly falling snow.

Honorius stormed over raging at Arthur. When the commander stood, murder in his eyes, the lord turned his anger upon a more helpless target, striking, and knocking his wife, Fulcinia, to the ground. Unable to tolerate him any longer, Arthur launched his fist at the man's jaw, sending him flying then place excaliber at his throat. He would have killed him but one of the priests spoke up, voicing his wish to have

"died with them, to show them their rightful place with god" nearly speechless with fury, Arthur ordered their wish to be granted and a horde of angry surfs swarmed them, shoving them back inside their soon to be living tombs. On the ground the girl coughed, unable to take any further water. Arthur took her hand solemnly and promised her that no harm would come to her. To his credit, Horton had come with medical supplies for the little boy, whose arm was broken. Dagonet took them wordlessly and began to tend the little boy. When he shied away fearfully, he took him by the shoulder looked into his eyes and told him

"You must not fear me" his lower lip trembling, the boy decided to be brave and allowed the big man to tend to his wounds. On the side of the hut, Camille still knelt, head bowed, tears dripping off her nose. Lancelot came over to her and, disregarding the smell of the vomit and blood she reeked of, turned her face up to his gently

"What is it?" he asked softly, as a warrior he knew that a man could see a lifetime of gore and still be struck with horror at a particular sight. Before he had met her, he had always prided himself on his strong stomach. He had never wept for the comrades he'd lost, choosing to stuff away his grief or suffer in stoic silence. He now wondered, if it would be possible to do so were anything to happen to her. Because he knew her grief to be deeper than just horror at the gruesome sight, there was no pity in his eyes, only understanding and kindness. She swallowed and whispered brokenly

"Did you see her, Lancelot? They tortured her then tortured and crushed her baby in front of her. She died trying to reach it and hold it one more time." Some small part of him whispered the day he had met her, when he had wondered aloud whether she breathed and bled like a human. It appeared that not only did she live, breathe and bleed like a man, she felt the despair of a woman as well. He offered her his hand and helped her rise, pulling her into a hug. He felt her shoulders shudder and finally relax allowing her to breathe deeply and master her tears. He offered her her water canteen and she used it to bathe her hands and face. No longer smelling of blood and vomit, she followed him back to where Arthur and the others were, directing the people around them. When the family and the people had been assembled and packed, they rode off into the mountains; to facean uncertain fate.

please review!


	18. the doubt

A/N- this chptr is completely silent-no dialogue whatsoever so don't remark on the format please! (I didn't mean it to be that way though so sorry) We're getting down to the final chapters, I estimate that I'm about six or so until the end, which is going to be a very very long chapter!

The tragic sight she had witnessed weighed on her conscience and she sought to ease her horror by visiting the two survivors. The little boy was a sober wide-eyed little child, afraid to speak or interact with anyone save Dagonet. In spite of this, she sat with him and talked to him, answered only with slight nods of his head. The girl, Gwenivere, was at first hostile to everyone, suspicious and wary of their intentions. Once she learned that Camille was half Celt herself, the other woman opened up a little more, and soon the two were laughing over Camille's stumblings in the musical Woad tongue, a language she had not spoken since her childhood. While traveling, Camille spent her time herding and helping the peasants, which followed their caravan, clutching their meager belongings to thin chests. She felt very at home with them, and as she was more patient than all the knights save Arthur himself, she was given the task of keeping them in order. From a distance she watched and smiled as Gwenivere grew closer to Arthur and the two began to spend more time together. Feeling that Gwenivere was the perfect foil to Arthur's personality, she extolled his virtues to the other woman whenever she could slip his name in on the sly. Although she trusted her, for Gwenivere had become her friend, she felt twinges of foreboding about her. It was obvious that under the grime she was very beautiful, although it was a different beauty than Camille's. She was tall and willowy where Camille was petite and compact. Her features were more open and lighter, sharper than Camille's dark eyes, mouth, and hair in comparison to pale skin.

After a long day of hard traveling, they camped under the shelter of tall dark pines, muted by the mountain snow. Camille refused Jols' offer to take her horse, instead she unsaddled and brushed down the big charger herself, then feeding and caring for her packhorse. As she returned to the main fire to bid her goodnights, her eye was caught by light issuing from the wagon. Looking closer she saw that Gwenivere was bathing in full view of anyone outside, her eyes riveted on something by the tree line. Following her gaze, Camille's breath caught in her chest and she stiffened. Lancelot stood, his back against a tree watching, having caught her blue eyes with his intense dark ones. Watching the two of them, she felt the twinges of unease bloom into full pangs of distress. Shutting her eyes tightly she held them there for a moment then opened them and looked back. The stare was broken and Lancelot had headed further into the trees. She felt a sob rise in her throat, but then stuffed it back down irritated, she refused to play the role of the jealous shrew. Lancelot was a human being, a male one, and none of them were perfect. Besides, how could she assume that she was the only woman he had ever liked? It was ridiculous. She would not mention it and would go on living, not worrying over every little glance he threw towards other women. And anyways, she though, Gwenivere was her friend and Lancelot her lover. They would not betray her…would they?

Stuffing down any uncertain thoughts she decided against paying her goodnights, collected her horse and gear, found a dry warm place not too far from the fire and bedded down for the night. When she had almost fallen asleep, she heard footsteps by her head. Turning her head slightly, as if in sleep, and cracking open one eye she recognized the boots to be Lancelot's. He paced back and forth in front of her for a long time before sighing restlessly and sitting down beside her. As he drew his knees into his chest she could feel his eyes on her, watching her, and no doubt wrestling with thoughts as tumultuous as her own. Suddenly he rose and started off away from her. She raised her head, with no more pretensions to sleep and saw him standing, partially concealed behind a tree trunk, watching Gwenivere who was walking, or rather gliding to a moonlit clearing which gave her a beauty that was entirely belonging to a creature not of their world. She swallowed painfully and mentally willed him not to follow her, resolving not to watch if he were to do so. To her immense relief she saw Arthur rise, as if in a trance, and follow her, his eyes wide. At this, Lancelot retreated fully behind the tree. Camille shut her eyes and prayed in thanksgiving to any god who might have been listening at the moment. She shut her eyes quickly, as she heard footsteps approaching her again. He sat down, again, beside her and this time after resting a hand, briefly, on her hair sighed once, this time in resignation, and slept. When she was sure he was asleep, she sat up and watched his face. For the second time that day, she felt as if she were going to cry. She lay down again, closer to him, and prayed once again, to anyone who might hear it, that Lancelot would stay with her, as she was not sure she would have to live for once he was gone. Many hours later, when she finally drifted off to sleep, it was a troubled slumber, full of dreams in which she ran through the world alone, and desperately lonely.

please please review! I got 0, nada, zilch for the last chapter and I was sad.


	19. two sides to every story

A/N-I'm Back! Sorry for such a long delay, this chapter's extra long to make up for it. Instead of asking for reviews which I know P.O.s some people I've decided to just start responding to reviews so any ideas, thoughts, or questions posed in reviews will be responded to by moi.The whole point of the beginningof this chptr is to show how Camille thinks Lance doesn't love her and the fact that he's only avoiding her because he feelsguilty.BTW- THIS CHAPTER IS NOT MEANT TO BE A CAT FIGHT BTWN CAMILLE AND GWEN OKAY! THEY ARE STILL FRIENDS!okay, sorry, just had to get that out.

tori- I promise I'm going to keep Camille and Lance together, don't worry :)

dmitchell1974- he won't break her heart,(besides if he did, she'dprobably kick his butt)his thing w/ Gwen is just as you said- an infatuation.

dellis- his love for Camille is the whole back-breaking, sacrifice your life, type of thing. He's not so fickle that he would flip-flop over to Gwen at a moment's notice. In this chptr (or in the next coupla ones) this will become pretty apparent

meraculas- here you go!

Evenstar-mor2004-yeah they are good at that aren't they?

ash211- thanks for putting your critique in such a polite format, I love getting feedback but sometimes people can be so rude! Your comment tipped the scale in favor of the decision I made public in the above A/N. My apologies for making Camille sound a little like a M.S. in the earlier chptrs, at heart she's really only about one guy, and that's Lancelot. I hope you keep reading.

Riley Todd- thanks for the compliment!

Maeghan- I do try for the spelling/grammer thing although it's taken a while to get there :)

eradwyn- yes the ring will be important later

The next morning, rough arms seized Camille around the neck and waist and yanked her upwards against a thick, stocky body. Gasping for air, and blinking her eyes, she watched helplessly as they grabbed Dagonet, attempting to do the same to him. Furiously, the big man beat them back, blades and all with his fists, roaring with fury. As he reached to his boot for a dagger, the shrill, unpleasant voice of Marius Honorius boomed out

"I havf zee boy!" Everyone turned to see the fat man gripping the little boy, Lucan, his head pulled back, an evil-looking iron blade against his pulsating throat.

"kheel them ahll!" he ordered triumphantly. Any further orders were cut off as a gray-flighted arrow thudded into his gut. An expression of shock on his ugly face he fell backwards, dead, or close enough to it. Everyone's head's swiveled to see Gwenivere, resplendent in a borrowed roman dress held a full bow, completely extended, a second arrow knocked to the string. Her full lips were pursed and her beauty set a temporary spell upon men in the area. Camille's captor relaxed against her and slid off her onto the ground, pouring blood. Arthur strode past her, his sword bloody from having freed her and stood firmly beside Gwenivere, murder in his eyes. Lancelot stalked out, cool as any tomcat, his swords out and rested on his shoulders, giving an unmistakable impression of a charismatic killer.

"Your hands seem to be better" he remarked nonchalantly to Gwenivere. Camille could feel the seductive undertones of the comment and swallowed hard, anxious. The victor of the silent mental struggle was immediately won when, Bors, yelling bloody murder, galloped in on his horse, wielding a battle axe.

"Do we have a problem here? Huh?" he inquired of the mercenaries coldly, bumping them with his horse.

"You have a choice; either you help or you die." Arthur informed them, icily calm.

"Put down your weapons" yelled the leader, livid "I said put them down!" Dagonet, now in possession of his huge broadsword, yelled an encouragement. The tension was broken and the group quickly, broke, heading off to pack up camp, hastening to leave. No one noticed Fulcinia, Marius' battered wife, bending by the body of her husband, and tucking something into her cloak. Tristran thundered into camp, his horse snorted and steam rising from its magnificent coat.

"Average kill?" yelled Bors,

"Four" replied the unflappable scout.

"Not a bad start to the day!" the burly man chortled. The two had gone raiding on the Saxons that morning, heckling them and moving as phantoms in the tree cover picking off the outsiders with well-timed hails of arrows. He pulled his steed to a halt and dropped a crossbow at Arthur's feet.

"Armour piercing, they're close," he informed them solemnly.

Lancelot wanted to smack himself. His hands were trembling slightly. Imagine, the one time he could have been there to protect and shield her, what had he been doing? Why, Dawdling, lousing about, and shirking his duty to her of course. Because of his inadequacy, her life had been in danger and his best friend had been the one there for her when it was him that she needed for a change. He berated himself furiously. And after having slipped up once he had come sauntering in, without a care in the world, completely unaware of the danger she had been in. He could have punched a stone wall, but none were available in the immediate area. Unable to face her after his blunder, he had mouthed off something smart to Gwenivere, to which Camille had immediately tensed. Great, he had now offended her AND let her down. By the time he was done dragging himself through the mud, he felt appropriately miserable and he trotted at the front moodily, letting the elements purge him of his guilt and frustration. Camille, in a polar opposite, rode towards the back, avoiding all things Gwenivere, who looked at her, confused, not sure what had brought on the other woman's hostility.Camille tried being flippant, forcing herself to flirt with the other men, but her heart was not in it. Despite her fluttering eyelashes, coy words, and witty responses, her laughter was hollow, her eyes haunted, and her words were vacant of any true feeling. They would talk and laugh with her only so long before realizing the emptiness that seemed to have burned its way through her core, waiting to be filled by a single look or word from a man that would not seem give it. When they stopped that night, she slid down restlessly and paced for several minutes before she stopped dead, almost running into her horse.

"Training" she muttered, hastening to her saddle bags "Training will do me a world of good.". Fully arming herself, she stalked off, without a word to find a clearing

Camille sat on the forest floor in a crouch, her eyes closed and her swords sheathed. She inhaled strongly twice then surged to her feet, threw herself into a roll sideways, then flipped up, drawing her swords in a fluid motion as if an imaginary attacker had besieged her from behind. Circling the unseen foe she crept, her eyes slitted in concentration. She stopped. With a growl of satisfaction she sent her arms spinning into action wielding the twin swords. Thrust, undercut, jab, parry, parry, block, down slice, club, swing and thrust, up and block, diagonal jab, she worked in a steady rhythm, increasing her pace until she had reached a dizzying speed. She began to breathe harder and a sweat broke out on her brow. Her thoughts quieted and her heart rate rose to a steady throb that filled her ears as she augmented her attacks with leaps, ducks, avoidances, rolls, and steps, sending her zigzagging across the clearing. She was in a deeply contented haze of flying metal when her blades were stopped with a jarring clang. Her gaze snapped up to meet Gwenivere's blue one, who peered innocently at her, smiling slightly.

"I thought you'd like a sparring partner" she said nonchalantly. A tiny part of Camille leapt with a savage joy at this opportunity at battle, especially considering the stakes- Lancelot's heart. The more rational part of her shoved it down, dismissing it as ridiculous "After all," she thought "It was only practice" She pulled her blades free from Gwen's and fell into a fighting crouch, which Gwenivere mirrored, loosely holding a short roman spatha and the hooked axe of the Celts. Both wore friendly smiles, but their eyes were unfathomable, each trying to find and exploit her opponent's weaknesses. As she was a half-foot taller, Gwenivere's height minimized the advantage Camille possessed with the lengths and symmetry of her weapons. Tristran materialized from the wood followed by Gawain and Galahad, distracting both momentarily. Bors made his appearance loudly trailed by Dagonet

"Whoa! A cat fight" roared Bors. Dagonet punched him in the arm but said nothing. Suddenly, the fight began. Gwen's axe snaked out as her spatha cut a swath towards Camille's legs trying to distract her from the approaching axe. Not to be deterred, Camille's right rapier blocked the sword as her left flicked up and caught the axe with ease. Both women had now gauged her opponent's strength and they withdrew to again circle. Simultaneously they rushed each other and steel clashed with iron as they met, twirled, parried, and thrust, in a graceful, sinister battle of wills. Ten minutes later, neither side had gained a foothold and both were panting, unwilling to relinquish any ground. Camille's eye was caught by Lancelot's appearance and, caught off guard she stumbled backwards. Seizing her chance, Gwenivere pressed furiously and off balance, Camille found herself against a tree, the taller woman's sword at her throat. Scattered applause greeted this end of the sparring. Her lips pressed together and she met his eyes over Gwenivere's shoulder. She shifted her glance back to her opponent and smiled. Gwenivere's eyes narrowed slightly, as if she suspected something and without warning, Camille dropped back into a low crouch, and swung her leg around viciously in a street fighter's crouch and drop, sending Gwenivere to the ground with a yell of surprise. Crawling over, and dripping with sweat, Camille dropped her swords and wearily helped her friend up, smiling, this time with genuine happiness. She had effectively sweated out all her rage and jealousy. Whoops and yells, from an audience that had since grown cheered this much happier ending and Arthur, who appeared from the shadows, clasped Gwenivere's hand with a smile, which she returned. Lancelot and Camille were left alone staring at each other from separate sides of the clearing. He dropped his eyes and turned to leave. She swallowed hard; sending down pride along with spit and ran up behind him, flinging her arms around him from the back.

"No matter who you love, I will always love only you" she whispered into his tunic" He swiveled and held her close as her tears seeped through her lashes and down her cheeks

"What is this?" he asked gently, relieved "Tears little one? Of course I love you, whom else could I turn to"

"But you love Gwenivere n-n-n-now," she sobbed into his chest. He held her even tighter and then sat, letting her crawl into his lap like a child would have. He smoothed her hair and kissed her tears away

"Never, I would never love someone else, my Camille, you know that" Camille did not respond, but buried her face further into his chest. He laughed softly, his fears alleviated. "No you needn't concern yourself with that" murmured softly, his lips and beard brushing the back of her neck. "Do I have to show you?" he joked, coaxing a tremulous laugh from her. "I never want you to believe that I have, for one second ceased to think about you or love you" he whispered fiercely, suddenly serious. He held her so tight, she could barely breathe, but her soul, which had seemed to be wilted and frail, bloomed once again and sang with joy.


	20. beneath the black banners

Beneath the black banners

A/N- Sooooooooo sorry for the long wait. There's been a lot of crap going on (and I don't mean that in a good way) We're getting close to the end…I promise! In this chptr, I decided to have Camille experience one of the things I deal with after I get super pissed at the world and kick box my cares away for a few hours- extreeeeme, make you walk funny for three days, muscle pain. :) I am very sorry for the word repetitiveness of this chptr, I mean I must say "crack" when referring to the ice like fifty million times, which seriously bugs me, but how many ways can you describe ice cracking (btw I will be seriously pissed if anyone flames me on this comment, it is not an invitation to remark on my intelligence or vocabulary :) lol)

Satiana- thanks- I love getting into descriptions of the characters emotions, or appearance and its great to find that readers don't just consider it long-winded!

Delis- definitely true, Camille may be tough, but its not like she's inhuman

Lalane- it would be "je t'aime l'histoire beaucoup" but thanks anyways; have a good time in Colorado

Evenstar-mor2004- yeah, if it had been me I would've smacked him then kissed and made up…but then again, Camille's always been nicer than me :)

Several hours and one reconciliation later, the knights, the women and the refugees found themselves on the edge of a colossal frozen lake.

"Is there any other way?" Arthur inquired shortly to Tristran. The scout shook his head but rode ahead to check anyways. Camille shivered. It wasn't the cold that bothered her but the look she had seen in his eyes. It was if the eloquent although quiet Tristran had gone from a loyal friend to a rogue wolf, a loner in everything, and the danger that manifested itself in his easy posture and calculating eyes was a strong reminder that ice could burn just as well as fire. Arthur ordered everyone down. Camille complied quickly but her wince and short gasp of breath was enough to summon Lancelot to her side. She heartily regretted skipping the earlier workouts, which revenged themselves on her in the acid that coursed through the sheaths of muscle encasing her legs.

"What's wrong?" he asked in a low voice. She smiled wryly and limped a couple of steps gritting out

"Uhn, just out of shape" he almost laughed at this for she was obviously lean and agile as a cat…at least a temporarily lame one. Nonetheless, she was laughably fit compared to the peasants and the bulk of the mercenaries as well. She limped over to Arthur and offered to lead the group since she and her horse were considerably lighter than he and his mount. He declined gravely, of course, and she smiled fondly and shook her head. She took a spot behind him instead and they took a tentative step forward on the unstable ice. They all swallowed nervously and glanced at each other in response to the awful groaning and cracks it make, but the ice held. Behind them the drums, which had barely bothered to register any longer, suddenly rose in volume. Tristran arrived suddenly, from behind, walking the ice as if it were second nature.

"They are here," he said simply. Arthur stopped abruptly and turned, leading his horse.

"Knights?" he inquired

"There so close, my arse is hurtin'" Bors grunted,

"never liked looking over my shoulder anyways" mused Tristran

"It'll be good to finally get a look at the bastards" spat Galahad.

"Here. Now." Smiled Dagonet serenely. Arthur looked to Lancelot last, and found his eyes locked with Camille's. He could find no fear in them, so he broke the stare and met Arthur's eyes. He inclined his head gravely in a gesture of agreement. As if an unheard of signal the warriors immediately began to gather weapons and strap on armor. Camille pulled off the leather tunic and pulled out a heavy dark tunic of mail. Her white linen under tunic slipped aside exposing a shoulder that, like the rest of her skin had stayed remarkably fair despite her life in the elements. Lancelot ran a hand over the crown of braids her hair was confined in, fondly and joked

"where was this when you got this?" brushing a hand over the star shaped, puckered white arrow scar on the exposed shoulder. She smiled and gave him a mock glare. Their bantering was cut short by the nervous intrusion of Marius' widow, Fulcinia, who coughed timidly then shyly drew Camille aside. She pressed something into her hand and Camille recognized the letters she had delivered to Marius. Remnants of the seals were still intact and she could see a corner of the papal cross in purple on one and a fragment of the imperious Germanus' coat of arms in red on the other. She looked back to Fulcinia, confused. The older woman hastened to elaborate, whispering

"these were with my husband when he…he…passed on, I think you should have them, lady, they…" she gulped audibly and Camille remembered the brave little woman who had launched herself at her husband to save Lucan only to be thrown aside, and she closed her free hand around Fulcinia's, who went on shakily "they concern you and you should…should have them, I think…" the poor woman trailed off rather lamely. Camille smiled, trying to put her at ease and thanked her. Looking relieved, Fulcinia hurried back to the wagon and her son, where the peasants were beginning to peel off from the depressingly small group of fighters. Camille's eye caught on the young firebrand, Ganis, who looked on forlornly as the knights made their final claims from the departing wagons. She sighed and hurried across to Arthur, who was sternly telling the young man to accompany the wagons. Just as he was rejecting Ganis' offer, Gwenivere sauntered by, toting her longbow and interjected casually

"You could use another bow" as she flashed him a lazy smile his mouth hang slightly ajar. Camille almost laughed at her friend's masterful control over Arthur, a man of stern control and will. She grabbed Gwenivere's gaze and shot her a conspiratorial visual thumbs up. The taller woman's mouth quirked and she jerked her head, indicating Camille to join them. They arrayed themselves, all nine of them in a crescent in the center of the lake and watched the seemingly endless wave of dirty brown-gray Saxon foot-soldiers pound towards them under the grim, fluid black banners of ill omen. The knights held their bows with the easy grace of men who knew exactly how to use them.

"Hold until I give the command" Arthur tossed out, almost carelessly, as Lancelot turned to the two women who flanked him.

"There's a large number of lonely men out there" he stated his eyes twin dark chocolate pools of suggestion.

"Don't worry, I won't let them rape you" shot back Gwenivere sardonically.

"You think to outrun them, then" Lancelot prodded, teasingly, attempting to pull his pride out of the flames

"No we just think to outrun you" mused Camille wickedly. His mouth twisted and he retreated into glares at the other knights, who were hiding their chuckles. All activity ceased when a Saxon crossbowman was belched unceremoniously from the ranks and dispassionately aimed his weapon at the small line on people, whom he was sure he could not hit. As expected, the arrow fell dismally short and skidded across the ice stopping feet in front of them.

"I believe they're waiting for an invitation; Bors! Tristran!" Arthur commanded and the two stepped forward, bows raised

"They're far out of range" Gwenivere said, frowning. Arthur answered her with only a very small, grim smile. They pulled their bowstrings tight and let fly. Predictably, a man fell from each side of the horde, and across the ice the Saxon commander, Cyric, snarled, showing twisted teeth and ordered his force forward.

"Aim for the outsides, make them cluster" barked Arthur, tersely. Nine shafts hissed through the chilly air and nine Saxons fell. The cycle repeated rhythmically as the foot soldiers clustered together shoving their companions aside to reach the safety of the center. As the ice began to creak and moan even louder Cyric yelled frantically for the army to stop, shoving his officers and menacing the men. Everyone on the ice held their breath as the moans of the stressed ice echoed eerily across the expanse that lay between them. Gradually, it subsided, and filled with triumph the Saxons once again began to march. Arthur showed no sign of fear or disappointment save the slightest twist of his mouth. He turned to the little party, pale green eyes solemn, and a little sad.

"It's going to hold, fall back." His voice was almost conversational but everyone knew the enormity that lay beneath his words. Nine fighters, no matter how brave or skilled, held little chance against two hundred or so odd Saxons, regardless of their lack of skill or courage. As they dropped their bows and grabbed their weapons, no one noticed Dagonet's strange lack of movement. He stared intensely at the approaching force and then glanced up at the sky but once. Suddenly, he seized his battle-axe and sprinted forward, oblivious to the cries behind him. He brought his axe crashing down with lethal force on the ice, burying it to halfway up the blade.

"Cover him!" Arthur shouted, desperately, for he saw that Dagonet's action was both their only chance for survival and also suicide. Simultaneously, Cyric yelled frantically for his crossbowmen, shoving them forward. The stupefied Saxon archers were no match for the knights however, who acted with a speed and ferocity almost inhuman as crossbowman after crossbowman fell. Lancelot's face contorted with rage and he yelled in pure animal rage and hatred. However, numbers once again came to thwart them and an arrow thudded into Dagonet's arm, a second into his chest.

"Dag!" screamed Bors and surged forward, Gawain on his heels, bearing small round shields. With a final hoarse bellow, the big man brought the axe slamming down into the ice, falling to his feet; the giant was felled. Bors and Gawain arrived seconds later pulling him from the icy hole he had created as cracks sped like fingers of ill-intent across towards the Saxon army. Bors and Gawain dragged him back and laid him down a safe distance from the breaking ice

"Dag! Stay with me Dagonet!" Bors yelled desperately, but it was too late, Dagonet was gone. Across the lake the ice snapped and tilted skywards, turning the lake into a field of deadly white petals. The Saxon soldiers tried desperately to hold on, leaving smears of crimson behind them as they fell into the freezing water. Gwenivere met Camille's eyes over Dagonet's body and they read their similar rage and purpose. Standing they aimed one final arrow at Cyric who was a small figure, safely retreated beyond the broken ice. They let fly and immediately the two officers, just inches to his right and left fell, dead before they hit the ground. Camille snarled and threw down her bow as he retreated out of arrow range, but Gwenivere watched him, forcing him to hold her gaze, as she marked his face in her memory, vowing to face him again someday. The world fell silent under the dark sky only to be broken by the scream of Tristran's hawk. From beneath the ice, the blank staring eyes of a Saxon soldier were looking up at the sky, but seeing nothing.


	21. We'll be along soon

A/N- Okay, I'm back after… forever…or at least a long period of time. Hope you like this one, thanks for sticking with me. In my estimation, only one or two chapters left before the big huge finale chptr! (Gosh I don't know what I'll do when it's over!)

It was a sad, solemn little party that rode away from the lake that day. Grimly they pushed on, splitting off into teams of two to heckle the remaining Saxon army hitting them from all sides with guerilla attacks like a phantom army. When they stopped at midday to water the horses, two letters fell from Camille's pack. She frowned and bent down to pick them up. She recognized them as the documents Fulcinia had given to her. Brow furrowed she opened the first and immediately waves of memory washed over her.

_She wore dark but subtly rich clothing, another way of emphasizing that her role was in the dark. She was standing behind his left shoulder, dwarfed behind the enormous shadow provided by the red, gold and purple of his robes. She remembered the intrigues he created, preaching forgiveness and humility in the light while dispatching her to take out his rivals in the dark of night. The long practice of stealing along palace corridors and the quick thrusts and silencing holds she had developed as a paid assassin ironically aided her up until this day, the killer instincts had kept her alive in a world of treachery, manipulation, and danger…_

She shivered, but forced herself to read it through. It read :

To the bishop Clemenius Germanus:

This letter is carried by a certain lady of my employment, who also carries proof of her identity. She is to deliver a letter to Marcus Honorious and she is to be accompanied by Artorius Castus and his company of Sarmatian knights, who are to return with the family, in particular my godson Alecto. In recompensation for his lands lost, Marius is to be given command of this last outpost, and inevitably a comfortable estate in Rome. Upon her return this lady is free from any employment under my name and is under your jurisdiction.

Signed _Justinian Gloriamus_

_Prophet, Priest, and King of Christ_

_Pope of God's Christian church on earth_

_Dated the year of our lord 408 anno domini_

"Ahh pope justinian" she thought, "It is just like you to promise me freedom but still keep a hold upon my cloak." She shook her head, half in frustration and half in grudging admiration for the great statesman and politician while she reached for the second letter. It was stamped with the less prestigious but still formidable coat of arms belonging to bishop Germanus. She hesitated momentarily but slid open the flap of the envelope and pulled out the letter. She squinted at the spidery handwriting and her eyes widened at the contents.

To Marcus Honorious:

As you have read in the correspondence of my esteemed colleague you are to be temporarily installed as commander of this last outpost of Rome. In the inevitable event of its loss, you are to be gifted with a generous estate and fixed income in Rome, to be awarded at the pope's pleasure. As to the bearer of this news, I must warn you. This female who bears my communication is feral, beguiling, deceitful, and highly dangerous. I have sent her on this mission in the hope that it will be the cause of her demise. If per chance, she survives to deliver this letter, it is my fondest hope that she will meet her match on returning. However, should she survive as your escort, you are requested to accuse and condemn her of murder and treason. She is then to be executed or locked into the deepest dugeon that you can provide. Please rest assured that you will be doing the world a great service by ridding it of the menace to civilization.

Signed. Bishop Clemenius Germanus.

She stared, mouth open at the letter. Her mouth shut, then opened again. She screamed. It was a high, long, terrible shriek of wrath. She let loose a torrent of cursing in several languages, none of which were remotely latin or English. Confused, the rest of the group looked on as she threw the letter to the ground and ran to her mount. Just steps away, her vision focused only on the horse and saddle, Lancelot came out of nowhere and grabbed her by the arms, stopping her. She struggled wildly still yelling unintelligibly. He held her still forcefully and cupped her face between his hands forcing her to look at him.

"What is it? What is it?" he yelled. She blinked, but retained only enough sanity to begin yelling in English.

"I'll kill him, I'll kill him" she screamed hoarsely. The tears running down her face were tears of rage.

"Who?" he asked urgently

"Germanus, Marcus Honorious!" she shrieked. With those words she lost lucidity once again and threw herself against the barrier of his arms. Alarmed he looked up quickly and grabbed Galahad as he passed by.

"Hold her!" he yelled urgently, shoving Camille towards him "I'm getting Arthur!" Galahad, looking bewildered, didn't have time to complain, as she turned the full force of her anger against him. Breathing heavily Lancelot reached Arthur who whirled and knew immediately that something was wrong. He raised his eyebrows and Lancelot gasped out. "It is Camille, she's gone berserk, swearing to kill Germanus and Honorious…who's already dead" he finished uncertainly. Arthur frowned and headed with his friend to see the to the trouble. Back by her horse, Camille went suddenly motionless. Galahad flinched expecting another string of curses but she bowed her head and her shoulders slumped. He stepped back and put his hands on her shoulders

"Are you alright now?" he asked. She nodded and looked up. He had less than a second to raise back his guard when her fist smashed into his face. He swayed for a moment then fell, but she was not there to watch. She mounted her still-saddled horse and galloped off before anyone could raise a finger. Lancelot and Arthur burst into the clearing and were confronted by a dizzy and battered Galahad, who could only point.

"Follow her, Lancelot, don't let her do anything reckless!" Lancelot cursed loudly and ran to his horse, which had had its saddle and bridle removed. As quickly as he could he re-tacked the horse and galloped from the camp in hot pusuit. On her horse, several minutes ahead of him, Camille let the rain dry her tears. Her face a mask of cold fury. Rage was good. It led to revenge. She smiled coldly into the elements; revenge was something she was good at.


	22. a confrontation

The confrontation

A/N- sorry for the long wait, I was on vacation, the next chptr is the last I think and it's going to be colossally long (I think about 5 or 6 pages) because it includes an epilogue that I don't want people to miss. I am very sad sniff to find only one review…please review…but thanks to my faithfulls who do review. This one should hopefully tie up a few loose ends as we head to the conclusion.

She was pushing her mount to its' limits. The horse's hooves pounded the ground at a furious pace, but she wished she could move faster. It was just like being betrayed by Teak all over again. She bent low over the horse's mane and kicked her heels into its sides. She knew Lancelot would follow her, whether or not he caught her in time, was a completely different matter. She flew past several startled peasants and through a copse of trees, emerging to see the wall. Her eyes glinted with rage as she was ushered past the smaller gate. Thundering into the courtyard she leapt down and ran into the upper barracks howling for Germanus. She ran into Horton, who fussed with his robes demanding

"Lady, please! His eminence is not to be bothered at the moment!" He huffed, outraged when she shoved him roughly out of the way and strode up to the door. His eyes grew wide, however, when her cloak was brushed aside by the wind, giving him a clear view of her hand, clenched furiously around the hilt of her dagger. He turned away, and scuttled off to find some guards. Not bothering to knock, Camille flung the doors open and approached a startled Germanus at his desk. She pulled out the letter and thrust it in his face.

"This is how you repay my work?" she shouted, her voice hoarse with rage. He sat back and laughed loudly, rising from his chair.

"Hees lordship, Marcus Honorios ees een commahnd here, there is nothing you can do to stop me."

"Honorious is dead" she spat back at him. The bishop moved closer

"Wehll in that case, you can be MY slave then. That ees what you're good at rihght" he asked, leering at her. Before she could respond, he seized her by the arm and waist and smashed her up against him, squashing his lips against her. He smelled sour, with a sweet cloying undertone that accompanied death. She fought one hand loose and slammed a fist against his face. He reeled back panting. She stood slightly disconcerted.

"You veel pay for striking mee!" he cried and hit her in the face as hard as he could, knocking her down. Furious he kicked her in the face on the floor, then reached down, seized her by her hair, and yanked her up, forcing her head back.

"You neehd to learn some respect gihrl!" he growled slapping her again. Her nose was bleeding and her face bruised from the abuse, but she had regained her composure. From behind them Lancelot entered as he raised his hand to strike her again. Up came her hand, clenched around the dirk and she clubbed him in the face. He dropped her and staggered back. She lifted her hand and Lancelot yelled

"NO!" sprinting forward and seized her around the waist, dragging her backwards. The knife missed the bishop's chest by inches and whistled harmlessly past his ear instead, landing in the wall beside him, quivering. Lancelot's face was dark with rage and he quickly strode forward, grabbed Germanus by the front of his robes and landed a punch on his nose, which broke audibly. He dropped the man and ran back to Camille, who had slumped down against the wall staring glassily at the ceiling. A party of guards rushed in. The leader went to his weapon but Lancelot's sword was at his neck so quickly that he had no time to draw it. He said in a voice that was quiet, but so saturated with barely controlled rage that they all shrunk from him

"This is none of your concern, you would do well not to meddle." He threw a contemptuous glance at Germanus,

"On second thought, take care your master, he seems to have fallen and injured himself" with a scornful glare over his shoulder, he gathered up Camille and led her outside into the watery sunlight, where she blinked and her eyes seemed to clear. Her shoulders slumped and she whispered

"I've gotten us all in trouble, haven't I?" Her eyes were hurt and he could almost see the little girl who's mistaken trust had lost her her entire family. He hugged her fiercely until he felt the tension go out of her and led her back to the courtyard. As they stood there, a little shocked by the events they had put into motion, Arthur and the remaining knights galloped in from the gates. His eyes concerned, Arthur leapt from his saddle and strode over to them. He met Lancelot's eyes first and was apprehensive at the still smoldering anger there. Camille looked down and away but he grasped her chin gently and raised her face up to his. His eyes narrowed when he saw red imprints of hand marks and the blood that still dripped from her nose and cut lip. The impending bruises were painfully obvious and his hand clenched involuntarily at his side. Gwenivere shouldered him aside and pulled her friend into an understanding hug. From behind them all, the little boy Lucan dashed from the assembled crowd towards the covered body of Dagonet on the horse. Evading Gwenivere's attempts to stop him he stopped stock still, staring at the hand that protruded from the covering. From behind them, a furious Galahad stopped a soldier intent on pursing the boy, as Germanus entered, sporting a large handkerchief and Horton to lean on. He glared daggers at Camille, but when he noticed the furiously twitching muscle in Lancelot's jaw and the weapon, partially out of its' sheath he looked away. Arthur stepped up to him, and, towering several hands above him intoned, stone cold

"Bishop Germanus; friend of my father." The message in his glare was quite clear- the bishop would say nothing of the recent events and he would retain what was left of his health. Plastering on a smile to hide his fury, Germanus offered up the papers of release to the knights.

As they stood at the burial mound of Dagonet, the knights could not know that the next few days would bring a whirlwind of events. Arthur's decision to stay for a last stands against the Saxon's disturbed them all, but none so much as Lancelot. In the end he too looked away and left with the others. Camille said nothing, but he thought he saw in her eyes the smallest most muted of reproaches. In his dreams the gypsy woman who had given him the ring as a child in his far-off villarge haunted him. Her eyes bored into his very soul and whispered that prophecy over and over. He could hear it echo in his head even through his waking hours:

"_One day, young one, she will come, the woman with the bottomless eyes. You will be on a path chosen for you by others. She will bring you to the end of your journey. She is your destiny and it is to her that you will give this ring. Should she accept it and choose to wear it, you will live out your days together in harmony. _

Here he could see the lines around her eyes crease as she stared into the fire:

_However, should it be taken from her by enemies when you are away from her side, she will perish with you on a battlefield far from your home."_

He scowled, it was just the ramblings of an old woman, and he had given her the ring simply as a gift, not as a binding of everlasting love. But still… the whispers of unease pushed him on to flee the wall. To run, something he had never done in his life, with her to somewhere where they could never be parted- by life or death.

please oh please review!


	23. the battle and the aftermath

A/N- Well I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to say, as it is the last chptr after all. On a technical note, if anyone thought that Camille's parents went from hating each other to getting married real fast, you're right! I realized I missed posting an entire chapter about them getting to know eachother, etc. Erm, what to say…oh yeah, thanks so much to all my reviewers and readers you guys encouraged me to keep on going. This fic was kindof followed by controversy (some you know about, others you don't) but in the end everything turned out okay. I'll miss all of you and look for me to post another fic coming up soon, maybe a KA, maybe not :) For the last time, this is me, over and out.

Camille was rather annoyed. She understood and loved Lancelot for his devotion to her among other things, but she was not to be coddled. It wasn't his decision to leave that was causing her frustration, however much that irked her, she knew well enough to leave it alone, and it was her own inability to think of some brilliant manner in which she could convince him to go back. She had observed them all and had decided that they walked the knife's edge of uncertainty. All it would take was a little push to send them one way or another. Of course, being who she was, she decided that she would be the one giving the push. The only thing that remained was the pushing itself. She rode up beside him and realized that he was brooding. She sighed in further frustration at the fact that fate was obviously against her.

"Lancelot?" she asked tentatively,

"mmm?" he replied without turning his eyes towards hers

"Do you have any family left back at home?" His mouth drew in as he remembered that battered ragged scrap of a letter he had received years ago. It had been from his father, posted months before he had received it, informing him that the particularly harsh winter had wiped out most of the village, including his mother, sister, and other family, leaving only a handful of the grown men alive. It had been ten years ago and surely his father was dead by now too. He had never been sure exactly how he could have stood to look at his father again, were he to be alive, it would make him feel too much a coward.

"No" he answered softly

"Lancelot…where are we going to go…what are we going to do" she prodded gently. It was his turn to sigh and he did so; loudly. She felt the faintest of victory pangs when a few of the others began to watch her out of the corners of their eyes. She sensed that this was a question most of them faced and had avoided answering. Suddenly his shoulders slumped and the caravan ground to slow halt as if by itself. Tristran looked down at his bird and clucked to it.

"You're free" he intoned solemnly and thrust out his arm, allowing it to take flight. It circled and let out a piercing call before flying away. Tristran raised his head and met the glances of his fellows individually. Lancelot finally turned to meet Camille's eyes.

"Is this what you want?" his voice was low with emotion, and his deep chocolate eyes were almost mesmerizing in their intensity. She shook her head and smiled sadly

"What I want is of no consequence, you must follow your heart as I have followed mine." She held up her hand as he went to speak

"You need only to know that I will follow you wherever yours takes you." He watched her for a long moment, so long it reminded her, poignantly, of a similar stare, the premise under which she had met him. Lancelot turned to meet Tristran's eyes, nodded, then turned back to Camille. His whole form seemed to lift as if great weight had been removed. He gave her a smile so pure it dazzled her senses. He bent forward and she met his lips halfway in a passionate embrace. When they pulled away she laughed, breathless and said

"I thought you'd never see it my way". He grinned back and the Sarmatian knights, and Camille, turned back towards battle. They stopped a mile or so from the fortress to don their battle armor and she took the opportunity to put on her own version of a personal crest. She sat cross-legged behind her horse and pulled out a tiny brush, three vials, a dark stick of something, her canteen, and a circle of steel, polished mirror bright. She pulled out the simple twist in her hair combed it with her fingers and went to work. When she emerged from her makeshift dressing room Lancelot's jaw dropped. She looked positively barbaric. Her hair was woven into a complex crown of braids, and then brushed with powdered mica., its glory only to be eclipsed by the shine of a paste of the same mica applied in elaborate swirling curlicues on her face , framing her eyes, which, lined with black kohl and lashes blackened with soot, were huge and glittered with their own, internal light. When the sun hit her she looked like some ancient goddess, all silver shine, burnished chocolate hair, and glowing green and brown eyes.

"Where did you learn to do THAT." Asked Gawain his eyebrows high. She smirked

"A trick I learned in Rome"

"Let's get going," advised Lancelot, grinning again. They reached the fortress and galloped on, to the hill where Arthur stood alone holding his standard. Camille reached out a hand and brushed Lancelot's arm, blew him a kiss, then split off, to join Gwenivere and her Woads. He watched her go but then reached Arthur. The two friends smiled and turned to watch as she joined the Britons. Lancelot noted that Arthur's eyes dwelt on Gwenivere, who's own blue battle markings were similar but unique from Camille's. They both turned again as the gate was opened and the first wave of Saxons crept in looking for blood. Camille dismounted and stood beside the taller Celtic woman. Gwenivere smiled at her then gave the signal to raise the bows. Concentrating, she aimed for the large group of men then let fly. Her arrow was followed by hundreds of others as the battle began.

All too soon, the bulk of the Saxon army and the Briton one two, charged towards the field of Badon hill. Camille rode, a solitary horsewoman among the Woads but this difference was lost to her as her mind focused on the task at hand. Lancelot and the knights sliced through the foot soldiers in their path, leaving behind a bloody wake. One by one however, they were unhorsed and landed, some injured to fight again. Camille felt a passing arrow slice her cheek and the blood began to flow. Distracted, her head whipped around and she failed to see the Saxon at her side, who reached up and pulled her from the horse. She fell with a yell, but her sword was already out in midair, and she cursed as his body fell on hers. Gwenivere shoved it aside and pulled her off, dispatching a man behind them.

"Let's go" Camille said, her voice steel. She nodded and they fought back to back, trying to get to the leaders. Gwenivere broke first to challenge a bear of a man who was the third in command. Camille drew her other sword and measured the mettle of the man who rushed her. From across the field, Lancelot drove his right sword through his opponent and looked up. Camille was a whirling dervish with her twin weapons and was close to finishing her opponent. Gwenivere was fighting Cynric, the son of the Saxon chief. A split second later she fell back stunned and barely avoided his next thrust. Lancelot's eyes flicked to Arthur and back to Camille. Arthur was thoroughly engaged and hadn't noticed her plight, Camille looked up suddenly and their eyes met across the battlefield even as he raced across to save Gwenivere, who looked up at the man standing over her, knowing she could not escape his weapon this time. She closed her eyes as his blade plunged down, but it was met with a clang as Lancelot arrived and flung his other arm in an arc towards Cynric's head. Camille saw and turned to kill her opponent. As she raised her blades, his swept out one more time, severing the chain where the ring hung It fell in a slow arc and thudded to the ground. As Camille continued on to her next opponent, Gwenivere scooped it up, narrowly avoiding the thrust of a battle-axe, knowing how much it meant to her friend. Far from them, Tristran fell, mortally wounded by Cerdic, the Saxon chief. Arthur saw and roared in fury as he finished off the brave knight. Cynric, desperate to forestall Lancelot, whom he recognized as a superior warrior, clubbed him in the face with his round shield, sending the Sarmatian reeling backwards. A foot soldier intervened and Lancelot dispatched him then looked up to Cynric who grinned, holding a cross bow. Camille, who was fighting her way toward him screamed

"NO!" as he released the trigger, sending the arrow thudding into Lancelot's heart. He cried out in rage and let fly his sword, which hit Cyric in the chest, ending his laughter forever. She reached him and dropped her swords for one critical moment, looking at him. A man rushed in front of her and thrust a sword deep into her belly then yanked it out. She looked stunned before dropping to her knees next to Lancelot.

"No" he whispered.

"Lancelot" she cried, beginning to sob as her blood gushed from the wound. Her tears fell on his face and she ran her hand across his forehead sobbing

"No, NO, NO!" She cradled his head and he met her eyes one last time as he forced out the words

"I…I…love" before he could finish, his head slumped back and his eyes dulled in death. Her mouth opened slightly and she shook her head slowly before crumpling forward, her head resting on his chest, one hand cradling his head, the other pressed over his heart, as if she could save him, dead.

Many years later 

Arthur sat straight up in bed, breathing hard. He had dreamed, and he rose, donning a robe. From the bed Gwenivere stirred and asked drowsily

"Arthur? What is it?" her face was shadowed and her snow-white hair pooled around her lined face like moonlight

"Nothing" he responded softly, but even as he did a shiver coursed through his shoulders. What could it mean that after so many years of peace and golden civilization his friend appear to him in his dreams? Nevertheless, peace or no, Lancelot had appeared, with Camille, and they had smiled upon him. He remembered with fondness those days in which he had ridden tall with all of his knights, riding strong and sure, dazzling the womenfolk with their charm. He almost chuckled, but the smile faded slowly.

"Arthur my truest friend...tomorrow at dawn...seek me at my grave" his friend had said, Running towards them he reached them and held out a hand Camille had smiled and he touched her cheek in awe, for she was as beautiful as she had been when he had first seen her on that fateful ride, her face and body unmarred by the wounds and blood that had scarred her in that last battle. Lancelot too possessed a beauty and charm that was nearly inhuman.

"My friends, my friends!" he had cried and tried to embrace them.

"Tomorrow" Camille whispered and cupped his cheek as Lancelot pressed his hand. As he reached out to touch them, they smiled one last time, and Arthur found himself embracing nothing; they had faded away into the nothingness of sudden wakefulness.

He wrapped his arms around his torso, which once hard and muscular was thin and bony, a testimony to the long years he had seen. As he pulled aside a rough burlap curtain, he could see a sliver of gray beginning to creep over the rugged mountains. He dressed quickly and quietly; he would make this pilgrimage alone. Finally, donning thick leather slippers, he slipped past the curtain over the doorway and walked through the silent stone halls of the fortress. Upon reaching the stables he saddled a stallion, old and gentle, for long gone were his days of high-strung war chargers. He rode slowly and silently, through the early morning mist to the cemetery of the fallen knights. He had honored his friend's wish, cremating his body on a pyre of the ancients. Camille, with him in sleep, had shared his fate and their ashes had been put together into a beautiful golden urn. Unable to part completely with them, the ashes had been thrown to the wind, but the urn had been buried in the place of a body with a sword from each of the individual pairs, and the grave marked with the remaining weapons. A willow tree had sprouted behind it, over the grave itself and had grown huge and gnarled, it's trunks wrapping around each other like loving arms. He arrived and dismounted from the horse and stood before the grave. Some artist had added a polished marking stone and had inscribed something on it. It had been years since he had been able to bring himself to visit the final resting places of so many friends. Lancelot, Tristran, Dagonet, and more recently Gawain, Galahad, Bors, Vanora, and – he was sure, soon himself. He bent down stiffly, addressing the great tree as if it could speak with him

"Ahh my lord willow; see how you have grown in nearly eighty years…" he trailed off then whispered again, softly "eighty years…" he bent his head and rubbed his sleeve against the stone to read the inscription. When he read the first words a veil slipped across his eyes and suddenly, there they were. He pointed to the inscription and raised his eyes to hers

"Yes" she said smiling gently. Her voice was soft and ethereal, proof that she did not share his world

"My lullaby". He remembered her, on her deathbed, holding her lover, her tears washing away the blood and grime on his face. Lancelot stepped forward and offered him a hand, raising him

"Arthur, do not fear. Your peace will last beyond your lifetime and you will be remembered for all of time as the man who created the world you have so long dreamed of." He smiled with more than a hint of the charm that had made him such a rogue

"For ages they will speak of the art, the language, the peace…the women" he smiled again, and Arthur felt himself to be the man he had been of eighty years prior.

"This is our gift to you" whispered Camille, and Arthur saw himself go from a emaciated old man to a strong young one, keen of eye and sharp of wit. Lancelot and Camille turned and looking beyond him

_A young girl appeared at the sight of the grave, which was now fully enclosed by the willow fronds like a curtain. The two swords, one of Camille's and one of Lancelot's still resided on the burial mound, remarkably untouched by rust or theft. She drew them solemnly and the vision shifted as Arthur watched her wielding them together as one against the forces of evil and greed, the final irrevocable binding of their love. The girl faded and was replaced by a boy, who joined the girl, drawing Excalibur from his own burial mound as the two new lovers stood together to once again vanquish the foes of Britain. _

. The lovers that would be the future faded and his two friends reached their hands out to him.

"Come with us Arthur, come where you will be old no more" he reached for their hands but then stopped

"Gwen! Lancelot I cannot leave her!" But Lancelot had gone. Camille smiled sadly

"You and your knights have nothing to fear from me, Artorius Castus" these were her words upon revealing herself to them, so long ago.

"Arthur do not fear" she continued gently "Gwen is old as you are, she will be here soon." Torn, he turned his head to look back the castle where she slept. Tenderly, Camille took hold of his chin in her fingers and turned his head towards her "Arthur, believe me, she is not there"

"Where is she?" he cried. Camille turned and Arthur saw Lancelot approaching, holding Gwenivere in his ghostly arms. She looked contented and peaceful, still sleeping. Arthur smiled with joy. The peace they offered beckoned. Gwenivere woke and looked up into Lancelot's face,

"I dreamed you were here" he smiled down at her and set her gently on her feet where she crossed to join Arthur. Reaching into her nightdress she pulled out a leather pouch hanging from a thong around her neck. From the pouch she pulled the ring.

"I kept this from the battle in memory of you, but it does not belong to me and I must return it to it's rightful owner" Lancelot took the ring and put it on Camille's finger. She turned from him, held both hands out to Arthur and Gwenivere and smiled. She opened her mouth for one last song. As the melody flowed from her lips, the light grew around him and he drew himself up and stood tall as she sang her final lullaby

_Sunlight is dying _

_My darling I'm crying_

_As I'm holding you here in my arms_

_Smile once more, and I'll give you my heart_

_We'll both ride together again_

_Forever more, by all I know, will I be here with you_

_Lay still, my love, I'll wipe my tears, lie still, no more nightmares_

Arthur took her hands and she drew him into a world of light and music. Behind their shoulders he saw his companions, Gawain, Galahad, Tristran, Bors, and the others, he called their names with joy and looked to Gwenivere, her face returned to its youthful beauty, reaching for him, unafraid, and ready, to live on in eternity.


End file.
